


baby can't you see? (i'm calling)

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Series: too high [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bitterness, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Established Relationship, M/M, Neglect, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: Two years after Dan's ill-advised stint up a mountain, and Phil's escape from a Royal psychopath, their dramatic flying off into the horizon hasn't had such a steady landing. Phil is consumed by his new venture in giving back to the world, but Dan is receiving none of this graciousness. Their living situation remains unstable, and they're barely in the same room long enough to hold hands.It's all about to break apart, when the pandemic hits them where it hurts. Once again, Dan and Phil find themselves thrown into isolation with one another, back up where it all began. The memories of The Secret of the Alps are both fond and traumatic; being there again, trapped and in a bitter feud, is worryingly familiar. Can they make it out together a second time around? Or is this cycle doomed to repeat itself forever, until one of them calls it quits?
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: too high [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936618
Comments: 45
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> At long last, the promised too high epilogue, or as my loving tumblr followers have taken to calling this fic 'THICCED'. This is going to be a multi-parter, so think of it more as a companion piece. I know there's a fair amount of angst in this first part, but stay with me, I do promise that things will get better for the boys. They haven't been through all that just to throw in the towel. 
> 
> Much love to you all, I hope you enjoy this extra. Let me know what you think!
> 
> N.B. fairly obvious once you start reading, but this piece will be told from the boys' alternate points of view.
> 
> xxx

The bag splits open the second Dan gets in the door, but he counts it as a win because technically he got the groceries home before they yeeted out all over the floor. It’s not so bad. The pasta is packaged, and the salad is in a bag, so they both survive. The vegetables will need a second wash, but Dan was going to do that anyway because COVID germs. You can never be too careful. 

Cornelia finds him on his knees in the snatch of hallway by the front door, whistling as he gathers the spilled items into his arms. She lifts an eyebrow. “The fuck?”

“I spilled the shopping everywhere,” Dan explains merrily. He gets unsteadily to his feet, eyes trained on the items compressed in his arms in case something dislodges and sends everything cascading to the ground again. “No use crying!”

He edges past Cornelia, hurrying so he can dump everything on the kitchen counter. This is a tad difficult, because, like every other surface in this apartment, the counters are covered with documents, laptops, wires, and folders full of more documents. Cornelia, following close behind him with a wary look on her face, clears a space beside the sink for him to dump everything. 

“What’s all this for?” she asks. 

“Gonna cook Phil dinner!” Dan says brightly, then grabs a bell pepper and begins rinsing it under the tap. “He’ll be tired. I wanna welcome him home properly so I’m making his favourite pasta dish.” He holds up the lactose free cheese he purchased. “I’m a housewife, these days.” 

“Dan,” Cornelia says, sadly. 

The tone of her voice makes Dan swallow, hard. He feels the lump rise in his throat. Slowly, he switches off the faucet, dropping the pepper into the sink to brace himself. He turns to her, wishing he wasn’t able to predict the pitiful look in her eyes. Sure enough, however, her mouth is twisted into a sympathetic frown. 

“He’s… not coming,” Dan surmises. 

“He called. He has to see through securing the finances for this project.”

Dan nods, eyes unfocusing. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

“I’m sorry, Dan,” Cornelia says, genuine sorrow in her voice. “I thought he’d be home by now too.”

“It’s fine,” Dan forces out, then flashes her a quick, unconvincing smile. “Um. I’ll put this stuff away later. I’m gonna go hang out in Phil’s room for a bit.” 

He squeezes past her out of the kitchen, walking briskly through the lounge with only a brief nod to Martyn and the others. He closes Phil’s bedroom door behind himself as soon as he gets inside, then lets out a long sigh. The tidalwave of suffocating disappointment surges up, followed by the usual wash of guilt. It’s selfish to want Phil to abandon his work when he’s out there doing so much for the planet, for people in need. But Dan still wants it. 

*

It’s ten at night in the UK, eleven in Germany, before Phil finds the time to call Dan. He only remembers because his phone pings a reminder, as he’s set it to do every night. If he didn’t watch it, he’d work right through until morning, so he’s got to rely on alarms to tell him to eat, sleep, call his boyfriend. Life stuff. He finishes scribbling a sentence on the proposal form as he presses the Skype call button. It makes the warpy call noise in the background, a familiar bundle of notes that always remind him of Dan now, because he makes sure to use Skype for their conversations, and Zoom for the work ones, so the two feel separate. 

Dan answers pretty quickly. “Hey,” he says, crackly and quiet, from all the way in England. 

Phil glances up from what he’s writing, flashing Dan a smile. “Hey. How’s your day been?” 

_‘...the budget can be broken down into three separate streams dependent on relocation costs, living expenses, and security…’_ He frowns at this sentence, then crosses it out and writes it again, changing the wording. 

“...and after that I got rained on a bit, but apart from that it’s been okay, I guess.” 

Phil nods, distractedly, and re-reads the line. _Does it sound too vague? Should there be more specifics?_

“Phil?” Dan says. 

Phil looks up at the screen. “Hm?”

“Is this a bad time?” 

He sounds tired. He _looks_ tired. Phil softens. “Falling asleep on me?” 

Dan’s forehead creases. “What? No, it’s just that you’re-”

“You can go to bed if you want,” Phil assures him with a smile. “I’ve got a ton of work to do anyway.” 

Dan purses his lips; he looks off to the right, at the wall where Phil knows there’s a picture of the two of them. Taped up, because he hasn’t gotten around to hanging anything properly in that new flat. He’s hardly been there for a long enough stretch to do any real decorating. Their room, where Dan is now, looks shamefully bare. 

“Work you couldn’t do here?” 

Oh, right. _Shit_. He cancelled on Dan today; he was supposed to come home. “Crap. Sorry,” Phil says, dropping his pen to his lap. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I told Corn I had to stay, and I meant to call you right after to tell you too, but Keith called about an update to the project and I got distracted…” He sighs, sliding his glasses back on. Dan is saying nothing, looking down at his hands, which are resting loosely in the middle of his crossed legs. “I’m really sorry. I wanted to see you today, of course, it’s just-”

“Yeah,” Dan says tightly. “You’re saving the world.” 

Phil fights an urge to roll his eyes. “Not the world. But a bunch of women suffering from domestic abuse in the middle of a global pandemic, so yeah. Pretty important.” 

Dan nods. “I’d better let you get back to it then.” 

“Dan it’s not fair to be mad at me for this-”

“I’m not saying I’m mad-”

“You’re being all sulky. I know your mad face-”

Dan sighs, exasperated. “Fuck’s sake, Phil. I’m not mad, I’m upset. I thought I was gonna see my boyfriend today, in the flesh, and instead I’m talking at a fucking pixel version of him again while he half-listens to me and then hangs up early to go back to work. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I have some unhappy feelings-”

“You’re obviously exhausted. And cranky.” Phil hears the unsaid curse word from Dan in the silence that follows. “Let’s talk tomorrow when we’ve both had some sleep.”

“Do you even miss me?” Dan asks.

It’s the kind of ridiculous, baited question that irritates the hell out of Phil. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not gonna answer that.”

“Right. Guess I’ll sit around tomorrow and wait for your next ten o’clock call then. We can do this all again. Night.” 

“Dan-” 

Dan hangs up the call. Phil sighs, running a hand through his hair. He types ‘goodnight xx’ into the chat, then chews his lip, looking at it. He types ‘ofc I miss you, idiot’, then gets annoyed at himself for rising to the bait, so highlights and deletes it, closing his laptop to get back to work.

*

Dan is in the kitchen doing his laundry in the machine crammed beneath the countertop, along with some of Phil’s - not that he’s ever here to wear the clothes - when his phone rings. It’s Martyn, which is odd, because Dan had thought he was in the lounge. He answers anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Dan,” Martyn says; he sounds distant. “I’m calling from Germany, sorry if the connection’s a little rough.” 

“Germany?” Dan stops unloading washing. “When did you…?”

“I left this morning,” Martyn explains, rushed. “Urgent call from Phil.”

“Oh,” Dan says. 

“Listen, Dan, the reason I’m ringing is ‘cause we kind of need your help.” 

“Okay…”

“It was Phil’s idea to ask you, really, but we need some law advice,” Martyn says. "Well, AmazingPhil does. As a company."

Dan’s stomach twists with unease. “That's corporate law. I know nothing about- I dropped out of my law degree.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’re still the one with the most legal knowledge of all of us,” Martyn replies. 

“Couldn’t you just hire a lawyer? Anyone who graduated would be better than me, honestly-”

“We don’t have the money, Dan. AmazingPhil Co. is nonprofit. We need every penny from the investors and fundraisers to put into the DA project, and we’re close to budget as it is. We're not asking you to appear in court or anything, we just need someone to look over the latest draft of the proposal and check it meets the legal requirements.”

“Well, I mean, if there’s really no one else, I can have a look, but I seriously wouldn’t advise taking my word for any of it. I was barely scraping a pass by third year-”

“That’s great, Dan. Thanks so much. I’m booking you a ticket now.”

“What?” Dan asks, alarmed. “A ticket? I thought you just wanted me to read some documents?” 

“It’ll be so much easier if you’re here,” Martyn insists. “You should’ve come with me this morning, but I had no idea we’d need you. How soon can you be out the door? An hour?” 

“Um...” 

“Listen, I have to run, but I’ll text you some flight times and you pick one, okay? Then I’ll book it. We have just about enough in the budget to get you here. Though prepare for a cramped seat in economy. And try to get all your stuff into a carry on bag if you can.” 

“Err, okay-”

“Thanks again, Dan. See you later.”

The line goes dead, and Dan lowers the phone. He stares into the folds of laundry half-spilling out of the machine, wondering why, if having him do this is really so important to the company, Phil couldn’t be the one to ask Dan himself. 

*

“Hey,” PJ says, walking into the hotel room with his phone pressed to his ear, chewing a slice of pizza. “Dan’s almost here.” 

“Great,” Phil says. His stomach does a nonsensical little flutter. “Keep an eye on your phone, Peej. Let him up when he gets here.” 

“Yes, boss,” PJ replies with a pizza salute. 

Phil heads for his desk, hunting for the most up to date project proposal for Dan to look through once he arrives. As he searches, his mind helpfully replays their Skype call last night. The hard, flat look in Dan’s eyes when Phil apologised for not coming home. It’s been three weeks since he last saw Dan in real life, though they’ve been Skyping every day. In truth, it’s been hard to find the space in his head to miss him properly, and at night there’s no empty-bed sensation because he usually passes out in the middle of working. But now, knowing he’s so close by, so nearly here, the want for him pulses in Phil’s gut. An ache, like a hole he hadn’t noticed was empty, and is now screaming, mouth gaping open to reveal a vacuum.

“He’s here,” PJ announces, happily, as he heads for the door. 

PJ has always liked Dan. It’s nice to know, makes Phil feel proud. Phil nods to him as he ducks out of the door to go and retrieve him. It occurs to Phil, belatedly, that he has no idea what he looks like right now. Probably terrible, considering he can’t remember when he last showered, or shaved, and he was almost definitely wearing this shirt yesterday. He hurries into the near-unused bedroom and digs a clean shirt out of his suitcase, then applies some spray deodorant and changes. He manages a brief face-splash and smoothing of his hair in the bathroom mirror before he hears the door opening, and the sound of two recognisable voices entering. 

His heart stumbles over its own beat, and he catches himself smiling before he opens the bathroom door. 

Dan is travel-rumpled, but beautiful, as he’s always beautiful. Naturally, earthenly - brown eyes and brown hair, thick lashes and freckles and dimples and all the imperfect perfections that beautiful people are blessed with but blind to in their own reflections. It only occurs to Phil as he’s already enclosing Dan in his arms that he should perhaps be more wary of his mood (not to mention the virus, given that Dan's just been on a plane), as they’re supposedly still in an argument. But Dan’s arms, though a little stiff, do come up around him to return the hug. 

“Hey,” Phil says into Dan’s hair. “Welcome to the madness.”

When he pulls away, Dan is wearing a pleased, if withdrawn, smile. “Thanks for inviting me.” 

“How was the journey?” Phil asks, already sweeping across the room to get the folder for him to read. 

“Fine,” Dan says. “Had to wear a mask on the plane, but no biggie.” 

“I debated collecting you in Susan, but thought it was probably easier this way,” Phil says, chuckling. “Anyway, you made it. So, this is the project proposal…”

*

Not ten minutes pass once Dan gets through the door before he’s set up at a desk (again, covered in messy files), reading through a horrendously long, detailed project proposal for a new government scheme intended to help German domestic abuse victims during the restrictions around getting out of the house. Phil is on the phone, pacing around the room with headphones in, talking aloud. He keeps walking past Dan, catching his eye without seeing him, and it’s making Dan feel… pretty invisible. Martyn brings him a cup of tea with a sympathetic smile. 

“Scintillating, right?” 

“This is going to take me a while. I barely remember any of this stuff, I’m having to look it all up online-”

“...hang on, Pete. Guys,” Phil snaps, tugging one of his headphones out and fixing Dan and Martyn with a hard stare, “can you keep it down? I’m trying to deal with something here.” 

\---

“Don’t fidget so much,” Phil whispers, so Dan drops his hand from his collar, breathing out hard through his nose. “It looks like you’re nervous.”

“I am bloody nervous! I was told I’d only be looking at a project proposal, not acting as a legal advisor in an investment meeting, I’m nowhere near qualified to do this-” 

“You don’t need to be qualified, you’re just here in case they bring up the legal stuff. Just say you think it’s legally sound, and-”

“I’m not even sure it is! I didn’t get a chance to look it all through thoroughly-”

“Well, you’ve had all night!”

Dan shoots him a glare, ready to retort that _sleep_ is a typically vital part of human existence, but doesn’t get the chance. The potential investors enter the hotel conference room, and Phil stands up, greeting them in German. They don’t shake hands, and it’s hard to tell whether they’re smiling behind their masks; none of this makes Dan feel particularly at ease. 

*

The meeting lasts far too long. It makes Phil antsy, as he has more important things to be doing than trying to woo investors into financing something their moral compass should urge them to do anyway. Dan is irritatingly quiet as well, meaning Phil has to do most of the talking. He understands that Dan feels out of his depth, but surely he could muster the courage to spit out a few snippets of legal jargon here and there, just to make everything seem legitimate. 

Finally, however, after hours of dancing around the same issue, the German investors agree to fund a big chunk of the project. The confirmation snaps some sort of frustration-born band in Phil’s chest, and he’s momentarily so delighted, so completely blown away by the good news, that he jumps up to grasp both of them by the hand. They laugh at his excitement, thank goodness, instead of finding it unprofessional, and shake his hand warmly. They arrange a follow up Zoom call, and start collecting their things to leave this stuffy conference room. Phil pulls Dan into a quick hug that he seems fairly stiff to respond to. He can’t help it, though; he’s buzzing with happiness. He covers his mouth with both hands to hide his glee. Martyn and Cornelia will be thrilled. Now they can move forward with-

The door of the conference room opens, and a visor-masked, nervous receptionist enters, followed by two police officers. Both in an absurd amount of PPE. They look like they’re about to step into a nuclear reactor. It’s unsettling, to say the least. 

“Herr Minchen?” one of them says. 

One of the investors nods, and a conversation ensues in German that Phil can’t understand. He and Dan exchange a confused glance. Then, the female officer utters a word that both of them grasp. 

_“...sie haben positiv auf Coronavirus getestet…”_

“Oh, shit,” Dan mutters. 

Phil swallows, looking down at his hand, which moments ago had been grasped tightly in the hand of Herr Minchen. The germs seem to wriggle around on his palm. He'd touched his mouth too, crap. He glances at Dan, who is also staring at the hand. Phil takes a hasty step away from him, suddenly alight with nerves. Dan fixes his sad eyes at him over the mask he still wears. 

“You just hugged me, Phil.” 

Phil’s eyes flutter closed. What a moron. “Shit.” 

*

Dan had really been looking forward to leaving this conference room. Now it seems like he may have to stay here for the rest of his goddamn life. Or at least two weeks while the germs that may or may not be currently dwelling in his body multiply and eventually die out. Or kill him, possibly. There’s one window in here, and it’s covered by one of those awful, plastic venetian blinds, half closed so barely any light gets through. Dan already feels claustrophobic in here, not helped by the fact that everyone is talking in panicked voices about ‘infection’ and ‘quarantine’. 

He casts a hopeful look Phil’s way, but his boyfriend appears to have left all of that authoritative confidence he’d been exhibiting while talking to the investors about the project behind, in the pre-coronavirus-positive age of this meeting. Dan reaches up and snatches his mask off his face. 

Everyone turns to shoot a horrified look at him, so he raises an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that I, along with everyone that attended this meeting, will be made to quarantine after we leave this room. So I don’t see much point in wearing this anymore.”

The other people in the room, particularly the police officers, look disgruntled by this, but don’t object to Dan’s decision. “You have somewhere to isolate yourselves?” the male officer asks Dan and Phil. 

They look at each other blankly, thinking of Phil’s apartment back in England, which is constantly filled with AmazingPhil employees and volunteers who have nowhere else to go, including Cornelia. 

“Susan?” Phil suggests. 

Dan shakes his head vehemently. “Susan doesn’t even have a fridge, or a working stove.” 

Phil runs a hand through his hair, messing up the neat quiff he’d styled it into for the meeting. “Um. Suggestions?” 

Casting about wildly, Dan shakes his head again, at a loss. “We can’t even stay in your hotel room. Everyone else is in there. PJ, Martyn, Sophie. God, this is a nightmare. Where the hell are we supposed to go, at short notice, that we can afford, within less than a few hour’s flying range from Germany, where we can isolate ourselves from the world-”

He cuts off at the bright, widening glimmer of Phil’s eyes. He tries to analyse it before Phil can speak the idea aloud, but comes up blank. “We’re half an hour from the border.” 

“The border to where?” Dan asks. 

“Switzerland,” the male officer answers for him. 

Dan’s stomach flips, then sinks to his knees. 

*

Mona is very sweet about the whole thing. It kind of makes going back a little worse, to know that Mona Kemp - who Phil regularly remembers with an overwhelming surge of shame because of the way he behaved towards her during his extended stay under her supervision - is not only understanding of his and Dan’s predicament, but actually _excited_ to have them back. On the phone, she can barely contain herself; she’s the epitome of professionalism, always, but Phil can hear that squeak at the end of her sentences, the bubble of joy beneath every word. For Mona, this practically counts as a full outburst.

“. _..and you must have your old room_ ,” she insists, “ _i_ _t’s unoccupied now anyway, so it won’t be any trouble. I always said I’d happily have you both back, and for two whole weeks! What a delight. Come as soon as you like, we’ll get everything ready straight away.”_

Phil thanks her profusely, then hangs up and meets Dan’s tortured eyes. “It’s just for a couple of weeks,” he says, and Dan turns away. “We’ll get to see Louise again.”

At this, Dan’s taut shoulders soften very slightly. It’s probably the best he’s going to get, for now. Phil sighs, and dials Martyn’s number. He’s still oblivious, a few floors above in the hotel room. It might take a bit of convincing on Phil’s part to get Martyn to believe that he’s not simply jetting off with Dan to the hotel where they met for a romantic getaway. His brother will hopefully understand that under normal circumstances, if Phil were so inclined to such a reckless move, The Secret of the Alps would be the last place he'd choose. Dan no doubt feels the same way, judging by his sour expression.

Right now, Dan is over talking to the police by the doorway, Phil notes as the phone rings into his ear. He’s got his mask back on, arms folded over his chest, stood two metres away from them. Irritatingly considerate. Such high and mighty morality, always. It can be infuriating sometimes. Phil has never done well with following rules the way Dan does. 

The line splits open in his ear. “Phil,” Martyn says, “are you done yet? Christ, you’ve been ages.” 

“Do you want the good news or the bad news, bro?”

“Good,” Martyn replies, already nervous. 

“The investors are all in.”

“Wow.” Martyn pauses. “Why aren’t I happy? What’s the bad news?”

“Brace yourself.” 

*

There was a time, Dan remembers, that he was terrified of flying. He would grip the seat as Phil propelled them into the air, eyes screwed shut, praying to every God he could remember from GCSE Religious Education while Phil cackled at him. It’s a shame, sort of, that that time has long passed. It’s been nearly two years since Dan first climbed Susan’s retractable steps, and since that day he’s been aboard hundreds of times. So many times that the fear has long since retreated. Instead, she feels familiar, safe, enclosed. Phil is a capable, confident pilot, and Dan no longer feels any sort of uncertainty about his skill. 

They’re escorted to Susan by the police, in a sort of ambulance-bus, with a siren on top that doesn’t get used. The police sit as far away from them as possible, right next to the double doors at the back of the bus. They wear full PPE, as does the driver. Dan and Phil sit close together, masks and gloves on, feeling as though they’ve committed a crime. The whole journey is more or less silent, but the radio is on, a man talking very fast and animatedly in German. 

It gets easier, of course, when they board the plane. They are told, in no uncertain terms by their police escorts, that they are to fly straight to the hotel, making no stops. Mona has set things up so they won’t have to be in contact with anyone on that end, apparently. Dan’s not really sure how it’s all going to work once they arrive there; Phil arranged the whole thing. He’d barely listened when Phil told him the plan, because as soon as Dan realised what Phil’s bright idea was, a small part of him had withered and died. 

He’s always tried to reflect positively, when looking back on that time in his life, up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere. He attempts to maintain the outlook that it had started off pretty shit, but eventually turned into an enjoyable stint that led to a new chapter in his life. So a good memory on the whole. But now that he’s actually returning there, all he can remember are the nights he spent, secluded and achingly lonely, in his unfamiliar bed, after working endless hours in a dull job with no future, no past, nothing to keep him going. Obviously, there had been Phil, which is what made the whole experience worth it. But even back then things between them had been rocky to say the least, and now… Dan lets out a sigh without meaning to. They’re in the air already, he realises, having been too lost in thought to really notice. 

“It won’t take long,” Phil mutters, mistaking Dan’s loud exhale for nerves, probably. “An hour and a half, if that.”

“No traffic in the sky,” Dan replies, for something to say. 

He wishes there was a radio in here. Phil glances over at him, but Dan can tell, even now, his mind is elsewhere. Fretting, probably, about how he’s going to manage his AmazingPhil team now that he’s quarantining up the side of a mountain, in a hotel famous for its inaccessibility.

*

Crossing the threshold of his former prison cell tenses Phil’s body to flee in a way he hadn’t expected. The outside of the hotel looks exactly the same, as does the lobby, which is somehow worse than if it had been redecorated. Phil is instantly thrown back two years into his own personal hell, up here alone and without means of escape, waiting out the endless hours in his empty room, growing miserable and bitter as time stretched on. Dan senses the tightening of his muscles, Phil can tell. His boyfriend glances over, warily, eyes tracking up and down Phil’s body. So Phil pretends he’s unaffected, shoving down all the rising trauma, and marches over the lobby floor. Mona is stood at the desk to greet them, waving her hands but not moving towards them. She wears a clear plastic visor over her face. 

“You’re here!” she cries, smiling broadly. 

“Mona,” Phil says warmly; he stops two feet from the desk, as does Dan. Their suitcases are pressed tightly to their legs, hands by their sides. “It’s so good to see you. You're just as beautiful as ever.” 

She bats her hand through the air. “Nonsense."

“Hi, Mona,” Dan says, meekly. His eyes don’t quite meet hers. “Thanks for taking us in like this.” 

It’s surprising for a moment, that Dan is acting shyly towards a woman he speaks of so fondly, but then Phil remembers those last few days before Dan left, how he’d quit with barely any notice, how he’d left Mona in the lurch. Damn. Probably should have given a touch more consideration to how Dan felt about returning here, after all that. 

“Don’t be silly, Dan. We’re so excited to have you. It’s been so long! It’ll be like old times.” 

Neither Dan nor Phil fully manage to hide their flinch at this, but Phil is hopeful that their masks conceal the worst of it. “Shall we just head straight upstairs?” Phil asks. 

“Yes, that’s fine. We’ve got some systems in place so that you can come down to the mezzanine at mealtimes if you like, but unfortunately we do have guests right now so you’ll have to stay up there for most of the time.” 

“That’s fine,” Phil assures her, “we expected it.”

“And…” Mona’s cheeks pinken, and she clears her throat. “I’m assuming it’s just the one room, this time?” 

Phil can’t help his answering smirk. “Yes, just the one.” 

“Right! Right.” She darts a quick look at Dan, who is steadfastly averting his eyes. “Lovely. Less bedding to send up. I’m afraid we won’t be able to strip the beds or clean your room until the two weeks is up, so if you want to change the sheets I’ll send up fresh ones and a laundry bag for the dirty ones. We’ll sort them out at the end of your stay.” 

“Thanks,” Dan says, because Phil is distracted, looking around the lobby, filling in the tiny holes of his memory with the little things he’d forgotten about this place. The knots of wood in the panelled walls that resemble warped, alien faces. The chip in the sideboard where he’d thrown his ski in a fit of frustration that time he accidentally dropped his phone down the mountain because Nikolai had been pissing him off. The framed watercolours of the mountains that Kaspar once bashfully confessed to painting. Probably not even Dan knows about that. “We’ll take our stuff up, then.”

“Sorry I can’t have anyone help you with your bags,” Mona says, frowning like this pains her. “We aren’t to go anywhere near you. Or else I’d have given you both big hugs.” 

“We can hug once the two weeks are up,” Dan assures her. “Looking forward to it.” 

“Gosh, this must be a real spanner in the works for you boys,” Mona says sympathetically. “I’ll do what I can to make this a pleasant stay.” 

“You’re too lovely, Mona,” Phil says, then lifts his bag from the floor and makes his way to the stairs, Dan trailing after him. 

“Come down for dinner, will you? If you feel like it,” Mona calls after them. “Just give the front desk a ring first so we can prepare.”

“Thanks, we’ll try. If we’re not too tired,” Dan answers, diplomatic as ever, and they ascend to the mezzanine. 

Phil already feels the oxygen thinning. 

*

Dan’s bag has barely hit the floor before Phil is calling the team back in Germany. Dan snorts quietly to himself, fighting a strong urge to roll his eyes as he kneels down to unzip his bag and find a change of clothes. A jumper, too, as it’s been a while since Dan’s body acclimatised to the perpetual coolness of this place. Phil is speaking into his airpods, pacing the floor again, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to establish decent line of communication between here and there. 

Ignoring him, Dan bundles his clothes beneath his arm and heads straight for the ensuite with the intention of a long, blisteringly hot shower that he can pretend will scald the COVID germs from his flesh. This room is, alarmingly, exactly the same as he remembers it, right down to the bed where he and Phil first scrambled, desperately, beneath each other’s clothes. His eyes stick to the large four poster as he passes it, swallowing at the memory, faded around the edges with age. 

*

Instead of going down to dinner, the two of them decide to have some food sent up to the room. Or rather, Phil reminds Dan that they’ve got too much to do, and are too tired, so it would be better not to have to make niceties with the staff and waste time performing the charade of a sit down meal that they’d both rather eat together, alone. In response, Dan shrugs moodily in the middle of unpacking his bag, which Phil takes as an assent. He calls down to the desk and asks Mona to send up their dinner, too exhausted by everything that’s happened today to fight about it with Dan any further. As it happens, Phil has way too much to sort out to eat more than a few mouthfuls of the pasta dish someone delivers. Dan watches TV on the armchair, balancing his own bowl on his hunched knees as he eats. Though Phil only catches snippets of the programme he’s watching between harried phone calls with a stricken Martyn and an agitated Cornelia, it seems to be in Swiss French, so Dan can’t be understanding it. 

“Are you even watching that?” Phil asks eventually, from the desk by the window, across which he’s fanned various files he’s brought with him around himself, along with his laptop. Dan has finished eating now - possibly hours ago, Phil’s not sure of the passage of time - but remains curled in the chair, scrolling through his phone with the TV on in front of him. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’d be able to focus better without the noise.” 

Dan’s mouth tightens, and he aims the remote at the TV, switching it off. “Better?” 

“If you’re actually trying to watch it then it’s fine-”

“No,” Dan interrupts, unfurling his long legs from the chair. He’s wearing sweatpants - when had he gotten changed? He’d been in his uncomfortable professional wear, borrowed from PJ, when they’d flown here. “It’s late. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“It is?” Phil asks, checking his computer screen for the time. 11:43. “Shit, yeah. I should probably get some sleep too.”

“Might be an idea,” Dan says, climbing under the covers on the left side of the big four poster. A tug appears in the centre of Phil’s chest, seeing him in that bed, which looks just as he remembers it. “Seeing as we are potentially fighting off a deadly disease.” 

“I’m sure we’re fine,” Phil says, but has in fact only just given this any real consideration. “You’re not feeling sick, right?” 

Dan snorts, rolling onto his side and switching out the bedside light. “If I were, what would you do about it?”

Phil thinks about this. It might be a little tricky if they both took a turn for the worst. But if it were just Dan, Phil thinks he could probably fly them to a hospital. Mona could call ahead, maybe, and that way Phil could just drop Dan off, wouldn’t have to come inside and risk infecting more people. 

“I have a plan,” he informs Dan, though it sounds weak to his own ears.

“Uh huh,” Dan says, not unreasonably. 

It still sends Phil’s hackles up. “Look, I had to think fast. I had limited options to choose from. It was this or get put in some German intensive care unit, what would you rather?” 

“Depends. Do I get to be alone in the ICU?” 

“You’re being a right brat, you know. I arranged this with Mona to give us at least a chance at a tolerable quarantining period. I know it’s not ideal, but it could be worse. We’re with friends, in a familiar place, with a gorgeous view, and each other-” 

Dan sits up and flicks on the light. “Each other? Are you having a laugh?” 

This throws Phil for six. “What do you mean?” 

Dan rubs his eyes, sighing. “Will you just pack that away for the night and come to bed? I’m exhausted.” 

“Yeah,” Phil answers stiffly, still not happy with Dan’s accusatory tone, “hang on, I’ve just got to-” 

“Finish your work, yeah. I heard you the first fifty thousand times.” 

Phil turns to make a retort, but Dan has flopped back down into the pillows, light off. 

*

Truthfully, Dan isn’t even certain whether Phil ever slept in bed beside him last night. He’s in his pyjamas, or loose fitting clothes at least, and the right side of the bed looks rumpled, but Dan was unconscious way before the mattress ever dipped, and he’s woken to Phil on the other side of the room, yabbering on a Zoom call with Martyn and Cornelia. 

He sits up groggily, hoping he’s not in shot behind Phil. 

“Hi, Dan,” Cornelia calls, giggling. “Nice bedhead.”

Phil glances over his shoulder. “Hey. Sleep ok?” 

Dan shrugs, and Phil gives him a tight smile, then turns back to the screen. “Anyway, back to the Kickstarter-”

Dan sighs, swinging his legs out of bed. He yawns, stretches, then heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. When he gets out, he cracks the bathroom door a smidge to peer out and see if Phil is still Zooming. He’s not, thankfully, so Dan doesn’t bother putting his pyjamas back on to cross the room to the closet where his clothes hang. He goes in just a towel, tied loosely round his hips. 

Phil is typing something, taut with concentration in his chair, but he does call out: “Want some coffee? There’s instant.” 

“Do we have any milk?” Dan asks, searching through the things he’d brought to Germany, most of which are unsuitable for this climate. 

“Yeah,” Phil says, looking over. “Mona left us…” he trails off, his fingers slowing their frantic clacking on the keys. “Err. Stuff.”

Dan pulls out a flannel shirt he’s half sure belongs to Phil, frowning at it. “Stuff?” 

He turns his head to meet Phil’s eye. Phil’s glasses are slipping down his nose, but he seems to have stilled to the point where he makes no move to fix them. He’s got a glazed, interested expression on his face; there’s almost animation above those dark circles. 

Dan raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

Astonishingly, Phil closes his laptop. Dan nearly drops the shirt in surprise. Phil places the laptop on the table without looking, then rises to his feet. “You gonna put that on?” he asks, meandering over. 

“Either that or burn it in the hopes of summoning a lesbian,” Dan replies dryly. Phil takes a step closer. “Or a lumberjack.”

“Y’know, it’s just me in here…” Phil says casually, sauntering even closer. 

There’s no mistaking the hungry look in Phil’s eyes when he’s this near. Dan wants to scream in frustration - is this really all it took to tear him away from his laptop? Prancing about in a fucking towel? 

“Yeah, I noticed, as we’re in quarantine,” Dan says, arms folding. He throws the shirt onto the bed. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” Phil says carefully, then reaches out and strokes a hand up Dan’s upper arm, over his right shoulder, “you don’t have to wear anything at all.”

Dan’s eyes sting when Phil’s hand makes contact. He wants to weep with how good it feels, just the touch of his skin, moving with purpose. Just the sound of his voice like this, low and coaxing, never failing to jellify Dan’s insides. He has always adored being the centre of Phil’s attention when they do anything sexual. How the world seems to fall away, and even without his glasses Phil has tunnel vision with Dan at the end of it, shining and perfect in his wanting eyes. 

He turns from the touch, cold and abrupt, then stalks to the bed before Phil can see the glisten in his eyes. “Its fucking freezing in here. I’m not gonna be strutting about naked.” 

In the silence that follows, he hears the hurt, hears the indignation, the humiliation in Phil's quiet stillness. But he doesn’t turn back as he once might have. Doesn’t soothe and apologise, and try to blow on the embers of what could have been, let’s face it, a great and long-awaited fuck in the bed they first rolled around in. Instead, Dan pulls on the flannel shirt, the material of which feels dense and thick enough to keep some of the cold at bay. He finds underwear, thick socks, and jeans, and pulls them all on in silence. When he finally finds the courage to look at Phil again, he’s pouring boiling water into a coffee mug at the kitchenette, which he then gestures to with a wave of his hand. 

“Know what you’re like without coffee in the morning,” Phil mumbles before crossing back to his makeshift work station. 

Dan retrieves it, adds the soya milk Mona left them, and sits heavily against the headboard of the bed. This is only day one. “Thanks,” he forces out, and Phil nods, sort of.

*

The coffee is bitter in Phil’s mouth when he drains his cup. It’s a horribly familiar, acrid taste that reminds him of a particularly depressing time in his young adulthood. He travels a lot now, for work, around hotels and AirBnB’s, but one thing he always makes sure he has with him is decent coffee. He hasn’t had instant in nearly two years. However, neither he nor Dan had been allowed back up to the hotel room in Germany. Martyn had packed their bags for them and sent them down to the conference room. In the frenzy, Phil supposes his brother could be forgiven for forgetting to pack the cafetière, which presumably sits even now on the end table they’d been using as a makeshift tea and coffee station. 

“I’m going downstairs for a bit,” Dan announces; the sound of his voice startles Phil, who keeps nearly forgetting Dan is here, quiet as he is, headphones in, scrolling through his phone. 

“Okay,” Phil says, voice a bit clipped because, honestly, he’s still stung from being turned down a while ago. Dan can be so moody sometimes. “If you see Louise, could you ask her for some proper coffee?”

Dan nods tightly, then leans over to lift the receiver of the bedroom phone. Phil listens to Dan explaining to Mona that he’s wanting to come down to the mezzanine, distracted by the strangeness of his appearance, swamped in a huge flannel shirt, hair frizzed from the shower and artificial heating. 

“See you in a bit, then.” Dan slopes off towards the door. 

“Yeah,” Phil says, already turning back to his laptop when Dan closes the door behind him. 

In the wake of his presence, some weight seems to lift from the atmosphere. Phil takes a long, deep breath in, relaxing back into his chair. 

*

It occurs to Dan that he’s hungry as he trots down the two flights of stairs. The pasta last night had been delicious, but he hasn’t eaten anything since. Phil must be even hungrier, because he’d only eaten half of his. Dan had actually felt a little embarrassed at what Mona must have thought when she collected their plates from outside the room. He emerges cautiously in the mezzanine, staying in the entryway for fear of barrelling straight into a guest and infecting them. He’s got his mask on, and his hands are thoroughly scrubbed, but he still remains where he is until he spots Mona, power-walking across the floor towards the balcony. 

“Mona,” he calls, and she freezes, turning to him. He gives a small, hesitant wave. “Can I…?” 

“Yes, yes, of course! Just… try not to touch anything if you can, hm?” Mona winces as she says it, but Dan nods in understanding. “Come this way, we’ve cordoned off a little area for the two of you-”

“Sorry, could I just-” Dan interrupts, and Mona pauses. “I was hoping to see Louise. If she’s… if that’s okay.” 

“Oh!” Mona exclaims. For a horrible, fleeting moment, Dan imagines that the surprise on Mona’s face is born of further pity, and that she’s about to reveal that Louise has quit, or been fired, or fallen ill from the disease that’s ruining so many people’s lives. But then Mona is nodding, smiling, and Dan’s relief nearly knocks him over. “Of course! You won’t be able to go into the kitchen, of course, but…” 

She leads Dan over to the serving hatch, out of which a steady stream of steam is funnelling. Inside, Louise’s silhouette moves to and fro in the cloud of misted white, her blonde hair scraped back into a low bun beneath her chef hat. She’s engrossed in cooking, sautéeing something in a frying pan that’s creating a great deal of hissing noise. She doesn’t notice Mona or Dan until Mona leans through the hatch to call her name; her round, blue eyes flick up, landing on Mona, and then darting behind her, where Dan hovers, meek but hopeful. He lifts his hand in a wave, a bit stunned by the sight of her, in the flesh, after all this time. The spatula clatters to the floor from Louise’s hand. It hits the pan on the way down, spraying oil droplets all down her apron. She barely notices, hurrying to switch off the hob before hurtling across the kitchen to the hatch. 

“Dan!” she shouts, gap teeth bared in her most brilliant grin. “Oh my God, you dick, you’re here! You’re actually here! Did you really get coronavirus? That sucks, but oh my God. I am so glad to see you! Where’s Phil?”

Dan laughs, trying to butt in throughout the barge of excitable chatter Louise is spewing in his direction, but then the last question falls from her lips, and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore. It’s all anyone ever wants to know when they see him, nowadays. 

“He’s just upstairs. Working.” 

“Oh right,” Louise replies, rolling her eyes fondly, “he’s a big shot now, I forgot.”

“He was always a big shot, to be fair,” Mona interjects. “Just now it’s for a better reason.” 

“Sucks that we still have to fawn over him, though,” Louise laments. “I was hoping to be able to give him the economy class treatment now that he’s no longer a trophy husband, but I’d just look like a dick if I did that. He’s so… _good_ now. It’s a little sickening.”

“Yeah, he’s…” Dan swallows, gesturing vaguely. “Anyway, Lou. How are you? How’s Pearl?” 

They talk for a bit, more than a bit, actually. Dan definitely keeps her from the lunch preparation longer than he should. Mona leaves them, tactfully saying that she’s got jobs to do, and leaves Dan socially distanced from the serving hatch (awkwardly stood in the middle of the mezzanine, in other words) with directions to his private, hidden table tucked in the corner of the room, cordoned off by glass screens. 

“This place looks exactly the same,” Dan tells Louise, looking around. “Except maybe a little cleaner. I was never great at staying on top of that.” 

“Yeah, that’s the new girl,” Louise says. “Farha. Your replacement. I say girl but I mean woman, really. She’s kind of scary, but in a good way. Very orderly and precise. Mona adores her, as you can imagine.”

“Oh,” Dan says, slightly weirded out by the idea of this stranger performing his duties. He supposes he should have realised they’d hire a new concierge, but somehow the thought never crossed his mind. “A woman, huh? Guess I don’t have to worry about Phil loathing and then growing uncontrollably infatuated with her, at least.”

Louise snorts with laughter. “So! My God, we’ve been rambling about the stupidest shit, we haven’t even talked about the most important thing!” 

Dan winces, hopefully discreetly. “What’s that?” 

“Err, what about the completely _iconic_ couple of the century, who fell madly in love under this very roof, broke up a celebrity marriage and abandoned their lives for each other, waltzing back in here still just as loved-up and perfect two years later- hey, Dan?” Louise breaks off, alarmed. “Fuck. What did I say?”

Dan sniffs, wiping his traitorous, watery eyes with his sleeve. “N-nothing,” he says thickly. Louise just gives him one of her stern looks. “Well. Yeah, not nothing. Oh, God, Lou. I just… I guess I didn’t realise how bad it’s got until you reminded me of all that.”

“Oh no,” Louise whispers. She glances over her shoulder, fretfully. “Listen, hang out here for half an hour, okay? I’ll finish making the lunch, bring you a cup of coffee. Then we’ll have a chat, yeah? You can tell me all about it.”

Dan nods, giving her a watery smile she probably can’t see behind his mask, and heads for his isolation table. He doesn’t have to wait long; Louise brings him a frothy latte after about fifteen minutes, dusted with cinnamon, with a little biscuit on the side. The simple act of thoughtfulness has him choking up all over again. She leaves it on the floor a few feet away, then steps back, seating herself at the next table over, separated from Dan by the screen of glass. 

“Okay,” she says, grimly. “Let’s hear it. What’s the dick-brain done to you?”

Despite feeling as if he’s about to cry, Dan chuckles at Louise’s fierce, motherly protectiveness. “It’s really not… what he’s done. It’s more what he’s not doing.” Dan sighs heavily, taking a sip of the latte. It’s buttery and sweet, spreading through his body in warm, comforting tingles. “I don’t even think he notices me anymore. I’m only here with him because we happened to be in the same room when the COVID infection happened. He’s so busy, all the time, and I know, I know, he’s doing these great, noble things but…” Dan cringes when he looks through the screen to meet Louise’s eye, sure there’ll be judgement staring back at him. But Louise’s face is just open, listening intently. “I never see him. He’s away most days. We Skype every night, but half the time he’s so distracted there’s barely any point. I thought maybe things would be better once he asked me to fly out to Germany, but it turned out he only wanted me there for legal advice. Which is just… I can't understand why he'd even ask me that. After he convinced me to give that part of my life up. I don’t know what to do anymore, honestly. I want to make things better, but we just end up fighting about little things if we talk because I'm too hurt and guilty, so I get snappy.”

Dan wipes some hot, uncontrollable tears away from his cheeks. He’s cried in front of Louise before, so it’s nothing she hasn’t seen. Besides, he’s been keeping this in for a while now. It’s probably good to release the emotion. 

“How’s the sex?” Louise asks, blunt as ever. Dan just shakes his head at her through the glass, morose. She sucks a breath in through her teeth. “Wow. In my experience, fighting always made you two horny as hell. This must be bad.” 

A despondence cloaks itself around Dan’s shoulders. He’d sort of been hoping, he realises, for Louise’s candid reassurance that he’s overthinking this whole thing. That he just needs to do _this one blatantly obvious thing_ and then he’ll have Phil back, in just the way he craves, and be happy as ever. But she’s not giving him that at all. She’s clearly concerned, and that creates an ache, deep in Dan’s stomach. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Dan repeats, hands around the mug. 

“Well, for starters, I think you need to get out of that room,” Louise says brusquely. “It won’t help anything, you bickering at one another for two weeks straight.”

“But… don’t you think… I mean, being with him, alone, is kind of what I’ve been wanting,” Dan says, troubled. “Surely I should be seeing this as an opportunity for us to get back some closeness-”

“Closeness isn’t about proximity,” Louise interrupts, jabbing a finger in the direction of Phil’s room. “It’s about intimacy. You could be fused at the hip, but if he’s still more interested in his laptop than you, he’ll feel eons away.” 

“That’s very wise,” Dan says glumly, drinking some more delicious latte. “But if you haven’t noticed Lou, we’re in quarantine. I’m, like, forcibly stuck with him.” 

“Nuh uh,” Louise says firmly. “Not on my watch. I’ll talk to Mona, see where else we can put you. You just get through the next few hours.”

“But, okay, if I’m in a different room - how will that help? I can’t fix anything if I’m separated from him.”

“Let’s do things one step at a time,” Louise says, kind and soft. Dan has to look away from her; there’s obvious pity in her eyes. “Dan… listen. I know this is going to be hard to understand, because you’re feeling wronged, and hopeless. But from what you’re telling me, it seems like Phil is falling into old patterns. Probably without realising it. He’d hate himself for doing this to you if he knew what he was doing. Because it’s exactly what Nikolai did to him.”

“No,” Dan says, vehemently shaking his head. “No way. That was completely different. Phil isn’t like Nikolai at all-”

“No, he’s not. But what you’re describing, these feelings of guilt and frustration and anger… I’ve heard them before. From Phil, when he first came here.” Louise taps two fingers on the glass pane, like she wants to reach out and touch him. “I know he’s not as bad as that, Dan. Of course I know. But he’s never been in a healthy relationship, remember. He’s only ever experienced poor, inconsiderate treatment, so it’s possible he has no idea how to be the kind of partner you need.”

Dan scoffs. “Let’s not give him too much leeway. I know he was pretty isolated up here for a while, but he didn’t live in a vacuum. He’s watched a romcom at least once, I’d wager.”

“You’re right, obviously. I’m not making excuses for him. The opposite in fact. I want to kick his bony little bum for this dumbass behaviour.” Louise smiles when she sees she’s made Dan laugh. “Dan, sweetie. You’ve been keeping this all to yourself, haven’t you?” 

“You’re not exactly super available to talk things out with,” Dan reminds her. “And… I don’t really have anyone else.”

“This is the problem with recklessly abandoning your life to run away with some fabulous rich hottie,” Louise sighs. “Which is the exact same warning I gave Phil once.”

Dan bites his lip. “The crazy thing is, it didn’t even seem stupid, when I was doing it.”

“It never does.” 

“I miss him,” Dan admits, thinking of that moment, in Susan’s fold out bed, where he’d made the decision to leave everything behind - his parents, his degree, his possessions - to glide off into the sky alongside Phil, destination be damned. He thinks of how gleamingly, perfectly happy Phil had been, at his side, flying them into their new life. How tightly his hand had gripped Dan’s. How he barely musters the effort to hug him now, most days. “But I’m so fucking angry at him, too. Like… I don’t even wanna be near him. He’s made me give up everything for him. He’s forcing me to do his legal dirty work even though I repeatedly said it made me uncomfortable. He hasn't shown me a glimmer of affection in God knows how long. And now he’s maybe given me fucking coronavirus! He’s never apologised for any of it, or even checked in with me to see how I’m coping. And he had the nerve, earlier, to try it on with me, can you believe that?” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Louise goads approvingly, “this is much better, Dan. Let the anger out! You wanna make him notice you? We can use this.”

The fires of Dan’s suddenly ablaze fury quieten for a moment, caught on the implication of Louise’s comment. He holds her eye through the glass, interest piqued. “Use it how?” 

*

The throbbing pain expands and clenches every few seconds in Phil’s right temple. Like a fist opening and closing. It’s the same side of his head as the ear which currently has an airpod stuck into it, out of which Rebecca Ann Whitehall’s nasally, officious voice drills through his ear canal and into his brain. But he’s trying not to correlate the two. Dan enters the room at the exact climax of Rebecca’s most condescending critique of the DA project, and lets the door slam behind him. It’s not his fault, exactly, because Phil had opened a window to let some air in the room, and the gusts of icy wind are powerful enough to slam doors, which Dan wasn’t to know, but even so, Phil is at the end of his tether. So he shoots Dan a glare. Luckily, Dan completely ignores it. In the moment, his indifference is irritating, but Phil knows deep down he will be glad about it later. Better not to have the waves of guilt crashing over him as he tries to sleep, if possible. 

He watches Dan crossing to the bed, not really focused on him because he’s still listening to evil Rebecca and her witchy, vicious comments about everything the AmazingPhil team are doing wrong. Dan pulls off his jumper, toes off his shoes and hops onto the bed, tossing the face mask onto the bedside table as he goes. Phil turns in his seat to check something Rebecca is talking about on his laptop. A few minutes pass, Phil massaging his temple with one finger as he makes gruff, monosyllabic noises of assent. When he turns back to the bed, just to give his straining eyes some relief from the glare of the screen, he almost falls off his chair. Dan is lying on his back, propped up by a few pillows, two fingers on the trackpad of his laptop, which sits to his left on the bed. His other hand is inserted down the front of his wide open trousers. 

_“...Mr Lester, can I get some sort of confirmation about that?”_

“Err.” Phil feels his cheeks flushing. “Sorry, I- yeah, I can confirm the dates are all… um…” 

_“Accepted? By both parties?”_

Oblivious on the bed, half-lidded eyes on his laptop screen, Dan’s hand slides further into his trousers; Phil catches a flicker of pleasure crossing his features as he brushes over the area beneath his waistband. 

“B-both, yes,” Phil manages, though he definitely hears a strangled noise come out on the tail end. “Ms Whitehall, um-”

 _“Mr Lester, is the importance of getting this sorted out not clear_ -”

“Ms Whitehall, I just need to-”

Dan draws his lower lip between his teeth, teasing it slowly. Whatever he’s watching on that screen seems to be straining his self control. Phil watches the shapes moving within the material of his trousers, the way his knuckles curl, the way his fist rises and sinks. He swallows, thickly, and Rebecca makes a vaguely repulsed noise. 

_“This is completely unprofessional. You’re obviously not even listening-”_

“Ms Whitehall, I’m going to call you back. Something has come up.”

He hangs up, right after her huff of indignation. Finally, Dan drags his eyes up from the screen and fixes him with a bored, hooded stare. Phil plucks the airpod from his ear and puts it on the desk, but realises in the next moment that the pounding noise is not coming from the tiny Apple speaker, but is in all likelihood the sound of his own thudding heart. 

“What are you doing?” Phil asks, choked. He can’t keep his eyes from straying back to Dan’s hand, still moving slowly, deliberately, out of sight. 

Dan rolls his eyes, blandly. “What’s it look like?” 

“I’m right here you know,” Phil points out, rising from the chair. He intends to stroll, casually, towards the bed, but something in Dan’s eyes has him freezing in place, right by the desk. 

“Yeah,” Dan answers, cold. “I had noticed that. Hard not to, when we’re stuck together in this room for two weeks. Not sure the same could be said in reverse, mind you.” 

He’s so angry, still. Phil had hoped that seeing Louise might have calmed him down, mellowed him out a little. It’s got to be the COVID thing. It was reckless of Phil to hug Dan and to not be extra cautious, sure, he knows that and he feels bad about it. But at the same time neither he nor Dan are - touch wood - vulnerable or likely to suffer very badly if they even have the disease at all. Which they probably don’t. Phil only touched those guys’ hands, briefly. This is all just a precaution. 

He takes a step towards Dan, trying for a smirk. “Well, you win. Pretty hard not to notice you right now.” 

He kneels on the end of the bed, and Dan’s hand goes still. His eyes are beady, dark, pinned on Phil. He says nothing, so Phil edges closer, crawling up the bed towards him like a panther advancing on its prey. When he gets close enough, he slides a hand up Dan’s stomach. In the next moment he is met with a hard, painful shove in the middle of his chest. It doesn’t send him flying, because Dan isn’t very strong, but it does hurt. 

“Ow!” Phil complains. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What’s the matter? I’m just… y’know, helping!” 

“ _Helping_?” 

“Yeah! Isn’t that the point of this little display? Get me to flubber my work call and pay attention to you?” 

“You are such a fucking asshole sometimes,” Dan snaps, ripping his hand out of his trousers and sitting upright. He slams the lid of his laptop closed. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I shouldn’t have to get my dick out for you to realise I’m here?” 

“Oh, come on, I know very well you’re here,” Phil says with an eye roll at the theatrics. “You’re a lot of things, Dan, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

“That’s bullshit! You forget I’m in the room sometimes. I see it. You jump when I move, or say something to you.”

“That’s…” Phil feels his telltale blush rise in his cheeks. “That’s not… I just get really engrossed in what I’m doing, a-and you’re barely speaking to me anyway, so when you do-”

“Right, yep, _again_ this is my fault.” Dan has slid off the bed now, and is pulling things out of the closet where he’d hung them, throwing them into his bag - a frankly baffling move. “It’s _my_ fault you barely fucking look at me anymore, let alone anything else.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Dan whirls round, murderous. “Phil, you haven’t touched me in three months.” 

“What?” Phil asks, stifling a laugh at this wild accusation. “That’s ridiculous, of course I’ve-”

“No,” Dan stresses, a whine behind the word that makes Phil pause. Dan’s eyes are red rimmed. “Not properly. You kissed me before you left for Germany. You hugged me, in Germany, twice. You put your arm round me in bed, but then your phone rang and you got up to answer it. Oh, and I guess we could count just now, when you bypassed all that and went straight to feel me up.” 

“It has not been three months since we had sex, there’s no way...” 

Although, even as the words spill, Phil feels the unsurety creep in. His mind swims, trying to remember the last time, but it’s hazy, distant. He thinks hard, remembering vague, mixed occasions of laughter and tangled limbs and the slick, hot feel of Dan’s mouth. His explorative hands, his breathless pleas, his nails dragging along the bumps of Phil’s spine. But the memories do seem distant. Fuzzy, blending together, with no one specific occasion springing to mind from the fray. 

“It was after the Peterson’s event,” Dan says, oddly calm now, though his eyes still glisten threateningly with unshed tears. “In your flat, when everyone was asleep. That was three months ago.” 

Phil stares back in shock. “I don’t… okay. Well.” He runs a hand through his hair, at a loss for words. “Shit. I didn’t realise that. But it’s just because I’ve been run off my feet with work-”

“Phil,” Dan’s voice has gone from harsh and grating to croaky, desperate. It sets alarm bells ringing in Phil’s head, though he’s not sure what they’re signalling. “Phil, the sex drought is just a symptom. This is falling apart.”

“Woah, what?” Phil scrambles to stand up, suddenly gripped with terror. Dan looks so… hopeless. When did his eyes take on that hollow, lost look? When had the first thought of giving up crossed his mind? Why was Phil looking the other way? “What are you saying? I love you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dan whispers, looking down. The tears spill as he does it, two pricks of darker pink on the carpet beneath their feet. “Nothing feels the same. I don’t know what I’m doing here. You don’t want me here. You only asked me to come to Germany because you needed my fucking legal advice-”

“That’s not the only reason-”

“Which, by the way, was a really fucking shitty thing to do.” Dan lifts his eyes back to Phil, angry now. “You’re the one who asked me to give it up. And I did, because I believed you when you said I was worth more than a career I hated. And then you just drag me back into it! The Phil I knew back then wouldn’t have done that to me. Wouldn't have put me in that position. _That_ Phil would have considered my feelings, would have protected me from the fucking virus before anything else, would have thought twice about dragging me back up this shitting mountain to a place we both absolutely loathed for different reasons, without even _asking_ me first!” 

Phil sits down on the bed again, struck dumb by the barrage of accusations Dan is firing at him, so suddenly, out of nowhere. This is overwhelming; half of his brain is still logged onto his work computer, hearing Rebecca's pointy voice. It's hard to to focus properly, which in itself is a bad sign. Might Dan be right, in a way? Could he have been too distracted, too distant, too immersed in the AmazingPhil stuff to notice Dan slipping from his grasp? If any of it is even slightly true, he needs to snap his mind to attention right now. This is dangerous territory - Dan is wildly, manically upset. He’s talking in ways Phil had thought he’d never have to hear again, after that long ago, awful time, near the end of their first stay here, when Dan had called it quits. 

“I… I need to process this,” Phil tells Dan slowly, buying for time, but Dan shakes his head, lips pinched. “This is a lot, Dan. We can talk this through-”

“I’ve been trying to talk this through with you,” Dan insists, strangled by his own frustration. “This is what I mean, you don’t even hear me! On Skype, the night before I came to Germany, I tried to address this, but you just brushed me off.”

“I didn’t realise you were trying to talk about important things-”

“What’s the point in those Skype calls, if they’re not important to you?” Dan asks, and Phil is lost for an answer. “Are they just to make you feel better? So you can check off a box in your head that reads ‘called boyfriend’? That’s madness, Phil. I don’t want to talk to your ginger roots while your head is bowed over your fucking project proposals, pretending to listen to what I’m saying! I want you to _want_ me. But you don’t, you haven’t for a long time.”

“I know I’ve been distracted, Dan, I’ve been so busy, but of _course_ I want you. It’ll get better when this project is over.”

“I don’t think it will. You’re always going to have a project that consumes your life as long as you're AmazingPhil. It’s always going to be this half life of waiting around for you, and I can’t stand it any more.” Dan sniffs, wiping his eyes. “This isn’t a relationship.”

“Dan, don’t say things you don’t mean, you’re upset, let’s just take a minute-”

“I’m going to stay somewhere else for a while,” Dan tells him, lip jutted, mind very obviously already made up. “Louise said she’d ask Mona to arrange another room for me. I think it’s better if we have some space from each other.” 

“What? You’re… you can’t just move out.” Phil’s hand tangles in his hair. It’s already too late, he can see it. Dan’s zipping his bulging bag, knelt on the floor to push everything inside it. “Fuck. Okay. Let’s… you’re right. Let’s cool off. Spend a night apart. But then-”

“Will you listen to me for once?” Dan asks, furious, as he stands up, hauling his bag with him. “This isn’t me throwing a tantrum for your attention. This is me getting away from this unhealthy, fraught, dead relationship before I go nuts. You probably won’t even care about this by the time the door closes, or the next email pings up for you to answer.” 

"I care about this," Phil insists, starting to get angry, "it's not fair of you to just throw all this at me and leave! I need to wrap my head around it."

"Fine," Dan says, already hauling open the door. "Take all the time you need." 

The door slams after him.


	2. Chapter 2

Seething, Phil has half a mind to chuck his phone at the closed door, still vibrating from how hard Dan had slammed it behind him. Instead, he dials Cornelia. 

“Are you calling to tell me you’ve been given some kind of Swiss Alps herbal remedy that's protected you against coronavirus? Because if not I’m probably going to hang up, I have so much to do.” 

Phil snorts. “No, but don’t hang up. I desperately need to vent.” 

“Ugh. Phil, I’ve got ten unanswered emails sitting in my inbox, and that Rebecca Whitehall bitch from the Frankfurt sector has been chewing my ear off too, something about you hanging up on her mid-conversation. Honestly, without you here it’s been nuts-”

“Please, Corn.” Something in his voice, possibly the way his throat strangles the words as they come out, stalls her. 

“Alright,” she says after a moment. “Hang on, let me just go somewhere…” There’s the sound of chair legs scraping against laminate floor, then a burst of voices, and finally a door opening and closing. She sighs a second time, heavier and louder. “Okay, you’ve got five minutes of venting time.” 

Knowing that she’s the type of person to set a stopwatch, Phil launches straight into an account of everything that just happened with Dan. He barely pauses for breath, and Cornelia doesn’t interrupt, so by the time he gets to the end of his ramble, exhaustion has wafted over him, along with a creeping, back-of-the-mind uncertainty about whether this is actually something he should be telling Cornelia at all. A silence extends after Phil stops speaking, and in the next moment, he closes his eyes, knowing, somehow, in his heart, that he’s about to feel very, very bad about himself. 

“Well it’s about time he said something,” Cornelia says, entirely unsympathetic. “He’s been getting the shit end of the stick for months now. If it were me, I’d have dumped you by now.”

“Tell me what you really think,” Phil jokes, but Cornelia seems to take it as a genuine invitation. 

“Alright. Dan has been sitting around in this flat, waiting to receive a glimmer of your attention, since the day you bloody bought this place. He gave up his life to be with you, Phil. He quit university, he pissed off his parents to the point they’re barely speaking to him, he moved out of their house to run away with you on a half-formed jaunt. Because _you_ promised him a fabulous Thelma and Louise type adventure to find your way. _Together_. But what really happened is that you found a cause, latched onto it, and left him behind.”

“Hey, I took him to Africa at the start-”

“Yes, and then you gave birth to AmazingPhil Inc., and forgot the part about including the guy who’s been sitting right beside you, supporting you every step of the way.” Cornelia tuts, clearly finding her stride. “Do you know what it’s like, watching that poor boy’s face fall every time you cancel on him? Last time you didn’t even _tell_ him. He bought all this stuff to make you a welcome home dinner and I had to be the one to break it to him that there’d be no one to eat it.”

Guilt lashes through Phil, bringing up welts of sadness, pity, all over his skin. His fingernails dig into his thigh. “God. That’s awful. I had no idea he felt…neglected.”

“Neglected? Fucking abandoned more like. When was the last time you even spent any time with him? Pre-corona.”

“I- I guess it’s been a while. I’ve just been so preoccupied with… with everything. You know how hard it’s been with this domestic violence project-” 

“Phil, at the end of the day, the time and attention you put into work stuff is a choice. You can only put one thing first in your life, and you need to figure out what that’s going to be.”

“Well of course he’s first,” Phil insists, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “I mean, in my heart he’s first. Just because I don’t think to show it all the bloody time-”

Cornelia makes an exasperated raspberry noise, cutting Phil off. Which is probably for the best, he reasons, as his words are now funnelling straight from his pool of defensiveness. “I’m not about to sit here and argue that you should be doing better. It’s pointless, and I’ve got shit to do. Instead, I’m going to leave you with this: Dan has nowhere to live right now. He’s homeless, because of a moronic, unfair plea from you years ago, telling him you’d give him direction, and stability, if he trusted you and ran. You haven’t even asked him to move in here, Phil. He’s still got all his stuff at his parents’ house. He treats this place like he’s a fucking houseguest, which is even crazier when you consider that you’re never here!”

“What?” Phil’s mind reels, trying to conjure up a conversation he must surely have had with Dan about living arrangements back when he signed the contract for the London flat. “Of course it’s his place too. As much as mine! I got it for all of us, so we’d have a base… but obviously Dan and I are the ones actually living there.”

“Try telling him that.”

“Crap,” Phil breathes, head tipping back to look at the ceiling. “This is a nightmare. I’ve fucked up impressively this time.” 

“I’ll say. Sounds like he’s nearly had enough, mate.” 

Phil’s head snaps forwards again, alarmed. His heart is suddenly pounding in his ears. “I can’t let that happen.”

“Well, I think it might be too late-”

“No.” Phil’s rebuttal is harsher than he intends it to be. “Sorry. But I’m not going to just… let him slip away. He’s the fucking love of my life. Shit. I can’t believe what I’ve- what the hell have I been _doing_? Okay, Corn… thank you. I needed a serious slap round the face, obviously. You delivered.”

“I reserve the right to perform the actual slap when you’re no longer a high risk corona patient.” 

“Done. Thank you. I’ve gotta go. I have a relationship to salvage.”

“Mm. I wouldn’t bet on your odds.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Um, could you let the team know I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the two weeks I’m here?”

“WHAT?!” 

“Thanks! Speak soon.”

He hangs up. The phone immediately starts ringing again, but Phil holds down the power off button and then chucks it across the room, as if it were alive. He can picture Cornelia’s fury being enough of an energy force to revive the thing so she can scream at him through it. To be extra sure of his disconnection, he switches off the laptop, shuts it, gathers all the files and documents into a big messy pile, picks them up and shoves them all under the bed. 

“Right,” he murmurs to himself. “Dan.” 

On his way to the door, he catches sight of his bedraggled reflection in the mirror. He truly does look a fright. Unshaven, hair greasy and all over the place. His t-shirt is stained with coffee and food spillages. He sniffs beneath his armpits, and recoils. 

“Shower,” he corrects, jogging to the bathroom. “Then Dan.”

*

Dan lies in the bathtub, almost fully submerged, trying and failing to relax his tension-taut body. The lower half of his face, including his mouth, is beneath the surface, so he’s breathing out of his nose. Tears have been dripping into the water for some time now, some born of rage, some of misery. He and Phil have argued before. It’s actually what their relationship was founded on. But this wasn’t an argument. This was, Dan is almost sure, the beginning of the end. Beyond the wall to his right, Dan hears the shower turning on. He closes his damp lids, suppressing the urge to weep again. Phil’s obviously not wracked with anxiety, then. If he’s popping into the shower to freshen up. 

Unfortunately for Dan, the only other room that Mona could arrange for him to stay in whilst adhering to the COVID-19 safety regulations is the one that used to be his. On the top floor, right beside Phil’s. The only blessing is that Phil doesn’t know Dan is in here yet. He sinks even lower, until his ears fill with water and drown out the noise of the shower next door. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near Phil right now, and if he weren’t legally obligated to stay in this tiny hotel stuck on the side of a mountain, he’d have fucked off long ago. 

*

“I’m sorry, but it’s really up to Dan to tell you which room he’s in,” Mona says for the second time, looking so uncomfortable that Phil might feel sorry for her if she weren’t currently attempting to sabotage his whole future. “I can’t help you, Mr Nov- I mean, Mr Lester.”

“Mona!” Phil cries, close to despair. “Don’t hold me at arm’s length. We’re friends. You know me. I’m Phil, not Mr Lester.” 

“I’m not getting involved, Phil,” Mona says crisply. She shuts the ledger she’s been writing in with a snap. “As much as I love you both, you are my guests. And guests are entitled to privacy, and my discretion. I don’t pry into your affairs, but Dan asked me for his own space and I gave it to him. I suggest you respect that.” 

“But-”

“It’s fine, Mona.” Dan’s voice is startling. Phil whirls to face him, eyes wide. Suddenly, seeing him here, in the lobby, damp curls and weary, miserable expression, all of Phil’s planned phrases fly out of his head. Dan basically ignores him, approaching the desk. “I’m in room eight again,” he mentions, not bothering to look at Phil at all. “Mona, has any mail come for me?” 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Mona answers, eyes flicking warily between the two men. “Will either of you be joining us for dinner?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” Dan replies, monotone. He’s flicking idly through a hotel brochure on the edge of the desk. 

“Well, let me know,” Mona says, obviously irritated now. “And make sure you take that brochure with you now that you’ve touched it.” 

With that, she bustles out from behind the desk, ledger in hand, and disappears into her office, closing the door behind her. Phil swallows; in the quiet of the empty lobby, the sound is distinct. Dan continues his slow page turns; it’s hard to tell behind his mask, but it seems as though Dan is smirking, probably at Mona’s reaction. 

This is probably the best window of marginally good mood Phil is going to get. He takes a breath in, then turns towards Dan, leaning his elbow on the edge of the desk. “Hey.”

Dan slides him a glance. “Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Phil says, unsubtly letting his eyes rove up and down Dan’s body. “First time staying here?” 

Dan’s fingers hover over his page. As expected, the stare he gives Phil is one of utter bewilderment. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“You’re cute,” Phil says, pasting on his most charming grin, which is of course invisible beneath his mask, “is what I’m on about. If you’re staying here alone, d’you wanna join me for dinner later?” 

As the realisation of Phil’s admittedly ridiculous roleplay idea dawns, Dan’s eyes roll. “Phil…”

“Hey, if we’re onto first names already, then at least tell me yours,” Phil says, gunning for smoothness. If Dan’s scornful reaction is anything to go by, he only manages leery. “Else I’ll just call you gorgeous.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Dan informs him, but - if Phil’s not mistaken - there is the tiniest gleam of amusement in his eye. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Oooh.” In a show of tremendous bravery, Phil tries for a wink. Mercifully, Dan doesn’t smack him. “How did you know I like ‘em feisty?”

Dan actually huffs something that might be the hint of a laugh, though he hides it well. He looks away from Phil, shoulders rising and falling in a sigh. If Phil were to guess the thoughts roiling around in his mind, he’d probably imagine they were something like: _is this really the best reconciliation attempt he could think up?_ And of course, he would be perfectly right to feel it’s sub-par at best, but Phil had limited time to think of this plan, which he came up with in the shower about ten minutes ago.

“Dinner,” Dan says at length, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “Seven.”

Phil’s answering grin is entirely genuine. His mask conceals the worst of it, but Dan must surely note how his eyes crinkle. “I’ll pick you up.”

Dan nods, curtly, then scoops the brochure off the desk, and heads for the stairs. 

*

_This is ridiculous._

It’s the fiftieth time Dan has had that same thought. But no matter how often it pings around his head, it’s never quite enough to stop him from intending to go through with things. Phil’s master plan is, apparently, to recreate a version of their first weeks together, up here in an isolated cell from which neither of them can escape. The idea is disastrous, particularly because he and Phil had famously detested one another back then (mostly, when they weren’t secretly lusting for each other). Yet, Dan appreciates that he is at least trying _something_. So, he buttons up his black shirt - the only nice-ish shirt he’s brought with him, that Phil had told him back in Germany was unsuitable for the meeting with the investors - and slicks some mousse into his hair in an attempt to reduce the frizz.

He’s tying his shoelaces - _ridiculous: this is a hotel, people walk around in slippers_ \- when Phil knocks on the door. His heart lurches - _even more_ _ridiculous: you’ve been in a committed relationship with this man for over two years_ \- but he dons his mask and gets to his feet, checking his appearance one last time in the mirror before pulling open the door. Phil is wearing a heavy black jacket, beneath which is a fitted white shirt with black piping along the seams - a particular favourite of Dan’s. An instinctive pulse of familiarity and fondness beats within Dan’s chest, but it’s chased off in the next second by the lingering feelings of doubt and upset. Phil’s wearing his mask too, but he takes it off to whistle appreciatively at Dan’s outfit. 

“Damn,” he says, smiling broadly. Dan hasn’t seen that smile in a long time. “Ready to go, gorgeous?”

“It’s Dan.” Even under the re-fastened mask, Dan can tell how pleased Phil is that he’s playing along. There's a strong urge to roll his eyes, but Dan resists. For now. “Come on then, let’s do this.”

Luckily, Phil doesn’t offer his arm or anything stupid like that. They walk side-by-side along the corridor, and Phil gestures to let Dan go first down the stairs. As they go, Phil keeps up a general, blithe chat of nervous small talk, commenting on the wallpaper, the narrowness of the stairs, the artificial, lukewarm temperature of the whole hotel. Dan doesn’t reply to any of it, is not really sure that he’s supposed to. Phil - the Phil Dan knows intimately - detests smalltalk, so it’s weird to listen to the barrage of barely sensible chatter. He has a small, but very present, desire to trip Phil down the stairs, if only to make him shut up. 

Eventually, they come to the mezzanine, where a bunch of guests sit two to a table. There are three couples in all, and they lift their heads upon seeing Dan and Phil enter, some of them leaning in to whisper to each other. Presumably they’ve all been informed of his and Phil’s ‘condition’. Luckily, before anyone begins panicking that they’ll be infected, a middle-aged, stern-looking Caribbean woman approaches them. She’s dressed smartly, in a shirt even whiter and starchier than Phil’s. She has a clear visor over her face. 

“Mr Lester and Mr Howell,” she says, in a way that immediately makes Dan feel as though he’s about to be told off, “we’ve arranged for you to dine on the balcony this evening.”

Dan glances unsurely out of the windows. A patio heater is on beside one of the tables, which has been laid for them. There are thick blankets draped over the backs of the chairs, and a small fire pit crackles a safe distance away. 

“Maybe I should get my jacket,” Dan muses, but the moment he says it, Phil springs to attention, shrugging his off his shoulders and holding it out. Too wearied by the whole situation to protest, Dan just takes it with a nod. “Thanks.” 

Outside, as Phil is taking his seat, Dan catches the woman’s attention and murmurs, “Could you ask Mona if she has a spare coat lying around? He’ll be cold in five minutes.”

She looks vaguely displeased at having been given orders outside her standard duties, but nods and beetles off, back into the warmth. The fire and the heater do make things tolerably warm out here, but given they are in the tundra, under the cloak of nightfall, Dan couldn’t exactly say the temperature is comfortable. 

“So,” Phil begins; his teeth are chattering already. “What brings you up the mountain, Dan?” 

“Oh, God,” Dan says, then pulls off his mask so Phil can see the full force of his sigh. “This is-”

“Ridiculous, I know, you’ve said,” Phil finishes; there’s a pleading note to his voice that makes Dan pause. He takes off his mask too, placing it on the table. “Humour me? Just for tonight?”

Dan wants to ask _‘why? what good will it do?’_ , but he refrains. What does it matter, really? This ship is sinking; if Phil wants to perform some last dramatic stunt of swerving it towards safer waters, then Dan might as well let him. That way, it will at least feel that they fought for it. 

“Fine,” Dan says, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’m… convalescing.” 

“Really?” Phil asks, perking up at once. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Dan says, blandly, already looking over his shoulder for the moody waitress. 

“Do you like it up here?” 

The waitress is nowhere to be seen, so Dan turns back, with some reluctance, to meet Phil's eye. “Not really, to be honest.” Phil just waits, listening intently in a way that makes Dan want to scream a little. Where has this interest in what Dan is saying been for the last few months? “It’s cold. Isolated.” He pauses, playing with the corner of his napkin. “And lonely.”

“Well, maybe I can help with that last one,” Phil flirts back. He gestures to the jacket draped around Dan’s shoulders. “Plus I’ve already helped with the cold.” 

Dan allows him a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks. But… not sure you can do anything about alleviating my loneliness.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Before Dan can answer, probably with some thinly veiled reference to Phil’s inability to look up from whatever screen he’s accessing his email account on for longer than twenty seconds, the waitress opens the balcony door and backs through it, carrying a tray laden with a wine bucket and glasses. 

“Oh, we didn’t order…” Dan starts to say, but the woman is quite obviously ignoring him, laying out the glasses for wine and water in a precise manner. 

“I took the liberty of ordering the wine ahead,” Phil explains, to Dan’s surprise. “It’s chilled though, which in hindsight was probably a mistake.” 

He glances miserably towards the grey, snow-crested peaks still just visible on the horizon, shrouded by darkness. Just then, Mona opens the door, two fur-lined parkas draped over her arm. She brings them over, whispering something to the waitress woman as she passes her, and holds out the coats for both of them. 

“There you are. Sorry you’re banished out here, boys. Can’t have you too close to the guests, you know? Protocol.”

“Sure, it’s fine,” Dan tells her with a smile, but takes the coat. “We’re okay.”

Phil accepts his with a grateful smile as well, immediately slipping his arms through the sleeves. “Thanks, Mona.” 

“Are you both okay with the special?” she asks, uncorking the wine as she speaks, efficient as ever. “It’s stuffed mushrooms and a couscous salad.”

“Sounds amazing,” Dan tells her honestly. “Tell Lou to make it extra hot, please.” 

“Yeah, sounds lovely. Thanks,” Phil adds. 

Mona pours their wine for them, her fingers white around the icy wet bottle. She tells them their food will be on its way soon, then leaves them to it. The door shuts after her, and another painful silence falls. 

“I’m sorry you’re lonely,” Phil says, after a moment. “Is there anything you could do to fill the time?” 

It’s an invitation for Dan to suggest that he and Phil while away the hours together, probably, but Dan is still hurt, and incredibly angry, so he doesn’t take the bait. “No,” he snaps, “there’s actually fuck all for me to do. Since I don’t have a job, and I’m not studying, and my boyfriend has forgotten I exist.” 

Phil reels back a little, but recovers admirably quickly. Dan has noticed this before, his ability to rally in an argument, to let the spiteful words that so often leave Dan’s lips in the heat of the moment bounce right off him. Dan is the opposite; words burrow into him, like nails driven in with a blunt hammer. He never forgets what’s been said in an argument, though most of the time he’s the one delivering the worst blows.

“He sounds like a real idiot,” Phil replies coolly, then takes a long drink of wine, eyes wide and panicked over the rim in a way that makes Dan laugh. It bubbles out of him without thinking, which is a welcome feeling. Phil makes him laugh as easily as breathing, when he wants. When he’s trying. Dan hasn’t laughed in a while. “I’m glad you left him behind. Glad you’re here with me instead.”

Dan’s mouth twitches; he fingers his wine stem. “So, what are you doing up this mountain, Phil?”

*

Dinner goes surprisingly well, all things considered. Phil had expected to have to jump hurdles, dodge the fires of Dan’s quick temper, which he has a lot of practice doing. They’re both difficult people in that way - argumentative, stubborn, defensive - so Phil had not been anticipating an easy first stage to this plan. But after a glass or two of the wine Phil had had the foresight to order (great idea on his part), things mellow, and even though they’re being other people tonight, strangers in a meet cute, it feels relievingly normal. Dan has always been a joy to be around, despite his grumpy phases and frequent foot-in-mouth syndrome. Phil has always _liked_ him, deeply liked him, for his wit, his cleverness, his honesty, the way his emotions are spread out over his face, like water boatmen, skimming the surface of a pond. 

It gets to nine, and they’re both freezing, but there’s a sense of enjoyment veiling their section of the balcony that keeps them from suggesting they head inside. Despite everything, Phil can see Dan has lost the ability to keep his smile hidden. 

“What is it you’d like to do, when you get back down to Earth?” 

Dan’s smile wavers, and Phil’s stomach flips, scared he’s chased it away. “Oh, I don’t know,” Dan replies, looking off into the distance. “Guess I’ve never really known.” 

“Well, what do you like?” 

“I like…” Dan hesitates, a flush on his cheeks that might be only partly from the cold. “Fixing things. Broken objects. Problems.” 

“Relationships?” Phil can’t help asking. 

Dan gives him a level glare, but there’s amusement behind it. “Those take special attention.”

“Well, problem-solving is a valuable skill,” Phil says, “there are lots of careers out there that require-”

“Where are you going with this?” Dan asks, suddenly sharp. His wine glass hits the table with some force when he puts it down. 

“I’m just-”

“Time out,” Dan interrupts, straightening in his seat. “Don’t really fancy prying into my dead end prospects right now.”

“Don’t say that,” Phil tries, “you’re just in a rut.”

“And whose fault is that?” Dan cries, eyes cutting across the table. “Do you really want to go there, Phil? God, what are we doing? Pretending like this is okay-”

“It _can_ be okay, Dan,” Phil insists, gripping onto the edge of the table, as if it were the reins of the runaway carriage he’s suddenly lost control of. “We can find our way back-”

“You’ve had _months_ to find your way back, Phil-”

“Is everything okay out here?” 

Mona’s voice is startling. She has appeared out of nowhere, seemingly; neither of them had heard the door open. Her face is calm, passive, no hint of her usual intuition that she’s encroaching on private affairs. Phil forces his body to relax, and Dan tries to do the same, though not as successfully. 

“I think we’re finished,” Dan says, crisp. “Are we all clear to go back to our rooms now?”

Phil doesn’t miss the use of the plural. 

*

Once they’re through the doors, back inside, Dan, along with his frosty attitude, thaws considerably. A bump of guilt grazes the back of his throat as he swallows, darting a nervous look at Phil to gauge the atmosphere between them. Remarkably, he seems nonplussed, waving through the hatch to Louise as they pass by (she returns the wave, if a little stiffly), and keeps a respectful distance, but stays at Dan’s side as they meander towards the stairs. He doesn’t ramble like he had before, presumably because Dan had acted put off by it last time, so by the time they’ve climbed the endless steps to the top landing, Dan is feeling kind of crappy about his attitude problem. He hovers outside his door, fidgeting.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Dan says quickly. Best to blurt it out, eyes averted, then move on. Like pulling off a plaster. “Putting all our other crap aside for a minute, I do appreciate that you’re trying. It was surprisingly nice,” Dan says, truthfully, “like a first date. We didn’t really have one of those, in real life.” 

“One of my few regrets about our relationship.” 

Dan snorts a laugh, smirking. “Only a few?”

“Hey,” Phil says, chuckling as he leans heavily against the wall between their doors. “I was going through a confusing time. Forgive me if I was a little rusty with my charms.”

“I distinctly remember being accosted by your charms right here, actually.”

The grin spreads over Phil’s mouth. He’s loose from the wine, his mask hanging off one ear, shirt unbuttoned at the top. His hands are in his pockets; Dan wonders if they’re being held there to prevent them from straying. He’s always been a handsy drunk. In other circumstances, Dan usually loves it. 

“Is that a fond memory?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice, because in the years that have passed since that surreal evening, when his ankle bloomed with ink-stain bruises, and a brewing storm crisped the air, he has revealed to Phil just how it felt to be lifted off his feet with the force of that one, unbidden kiss. The way it had knocked him out of orbit, sent him spiralling into another version of himself, a Dan that could be coveted, and alluring, and enough to tempt someone away from their marriage, their life. He has tried, hundreds of times, in the folds of Phil’s bedsheets, in the eking Sunday morning light, to convey just how soul-wrenchingly perfect that moment had been, just because it had, to Dan, come from nowhere, plucked him out of his misery, and given him a new, sparkling dream. 

“What were you thinking?” Dan finds his lips saying. “When you kissed me that first time?” 

“I don’t think I was,” Phil admits, then pulls a hand out of his pocket, brings it to Dan’s face. His fingertips skim the curve of Dan’s cheek, right where he knows his dimple cuts into the flesh. “I was helpless to resist this face. I still am.”

He takes a step forwards, hesitant, eyes trained on Dan’s, anticipating the pull back. But what Phil has never, truly, understood, is that Dan is just as helpless. Always has been, in fact, though he’s better at hiding it away. Many in Dan’s position would have never battled through the fights, rough as they were at the start, to consummate their emotional affair. Many in Dan’s position would have left over these past months, too, outraged as they might rightly have been at being so mistreated. But Phil has a gravitational pull for him, one that Dan has been swirling in for a long time. So he leans in, drawn as he will always be, and lets Phil push their lips together in the very spot he had that first time. 

It’s brief. Phil’s eyes remain half-closed when he pulls away. He quirks a smile at Dan. “Shit,” he jokes, then makes a show of running for his door, so Dan grabs him by the shirt, and pulls him back in for more. 

“You’re not funny,” he mumbles into Phil’s mouth, suddenly desperate to be closer, to crowd himself against the man he loves so dearly, and dislikes so fiercely for behaving like a twat. 

Phil kisses him back against the wall, happy to be clutched at, held in place, by Dan’s frantic grip. It’s overwhelming, the desire to sink into this, to plunge right back into the turbulent waters they’ve only just begun swimming out of. Dan almost slips, falls right back into the fray. But he catches himself in time, forcing himself to remember the nights Phil didn’t kiss him, and why it feels so guttingly painful to kiss him now, after so long. 

He pushes Phil’s chest, firmly. Both of them are a little breathless when they break apart. “Goodnight,” Dan tells him, swallowing the words that threaten to surge up ( _come to bed with me please, make love to me like I’ve been dreaming you will when you remember me at last, touch me in that reverent way you used to, tell me you’ve missed me and you’re never going to let me feel so lost again-_ ). “See you in the morning.” 

Disappointment is there, in the depths of Phil’s hypnotically blue eyes. Dan turns from it abruptly, and heads into his room. As he shuts the door, he hears Phil say, “Night, Dan.” 

*

In the morning, Phil arranges for an early morning visit to the kitchen. He doesn’t get a lot of sleep these days, now that he’s got such a jam-packed schedule, so he’s become an early riser. He makes it down to the mezzanine at seven, way before Dan stirs, and heads straight for the serving hatch. The mezzanine is deserted, the tables not even set for breakfast yet, so there’s no need to worry about running into other guests, though he still wears a mask of course. 

“Lou!” he calls, spotting her at once pulling huge Tupperware boxes out of the fridge. 

She whirls around, deer in headlights, her chef hat amusingly dented. “Oh, Christ. It really is you!” She abandons her Tupperware, slamming the fridge closed with an alarming vigour before striding over to him. She wears blue plastic gloves over her hands. “My God, you’re thin. Do you want some breakfast? I’m thinking of crêpes.” 

Phil chuckles. “Coffee would be great for now, if it’s not too much trouble.” 

There’s something holding back her usual bubbly nature. A tension settles between them that Phil is confused about. Has he insulted her in some way? He made sure to say goodbye to her properly before he left two years ago, and has remained her friend on social media ever since. She likes his posts and comments encouraging things on his updates about the AmazingPhil stuff. He'd always thought they'd remained amicable. But he’s definitely not imagining the way she holds herself now, closed off and tense, as she tracks her big blue eyes over him. 

“Mmhmm.” She goes to fetch a mug. “A caramel macchiato?”

“Two, actually,” Phil says with a smile. “Gonna bring one for Dan. He’s a grump in the morning without his coffee.” 

The next mug she reaches for slips out of her grasp, clattering over the stainless steel countertop; the handle breaks off as it hits the hard surface. Phil winces. 

“Is that what’s making him grumpy?” There’s venom in her voice, and the glare she fixes him with, though brief, is piercing. “I’ll be sure to make it a double, then.” 

“Err. Great,” Phil replies, confused. “Thanks.” 

She nods tightly, turning her back on him as she works the coffee machine, conjuring angry spurts of steam left right and centre. Phil has the distinct feeling, watching her, that he should be apologising for something, though he’s got no clue what. 

“So, how have you been?” he asks, desperate to lighten the mood. 

“Fine, thanks,” she answers. “It’s all pretty much the same up here. But you know all about that.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a rueful smile. “I sure do. This place looks exactly as I remember it.” 

“Except no Dan,” Louise says, throwing a glance over her shoulder. 

“Well, I mean. He’s still here. I still get to see him.” 

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“What?” 

Louise finishes pouring the milk from the jug into the two mugs before speaking. She turns around, fixing Phil with a hard, disapproving glare that sends him freewheeling back in time to when he was twenty-two and still heartbroken over a man that didn’t truly want him. She’s always been so direct, so unapologetic about her opinion. He swallows, standing up a little taller - a reflex from his youth, wanting to impress her. 

“You’ve been mistreating that boy.” There’s no room for argument in her tone. “That poor, sweet, lost boy that you ensnared with all your posh charm and enigmatic swanning about. That boy that would merrily fling himself off the mountain for you. I’m so disappointed in you, Phil. I’m so sad that you turned into someone that could be so cruel.” 

“Hold on,” Phil says, getting het up now. “That’s not fair. I’ve just been distracted! _Cruel_ is a strong word-”

“Is that the opinion you’d have if you’d been the one to spend an hour consoling him while he cried?” Louise asks, pushing the cups of coffee at him over the counter. “He’s never been a happy person, but I do seem to remember that he kept his emotions fairly private before now. You’ve done a world of damage there.” 

Phil is about to rebuff her, but then feels his breath catch in his throat. What had Cornelia said? _‘He’s homeless, because of a moronic, unfair plea from you months ago, telling him you’d give him direction, and stability, if he trusted you and ran.’_

Guilt swarms at him in an insect-like cloud, stinging his cheeks a violent pink. “I- I haven’t meant to.” He swallows, suddenly overwhelmed with the regret and shame Louise is unearthing. He stares at the two coffee mugs, perfect caramel macchiatos, reminding him of times past. Does Dan even like caramel macchiatos as much as he does? Is there a different coffee he prefers? Phil has never asked him. He just knows that Dan likes his favourite drink too, so always orders a second one. “Was he really crying?” 

“Oh, Phil,” Louise sighs, having deflated a little, now that's she's got the worst of her point across. She can never hold her anger for long, though it’s frightening to behold in the moment. “Honey, don’t wallow. There’s no point. And trust me when I say you don’t have the luxury. Dan’s endured months of this, and he’s starting to think it’s never going to change. You need to turn this self-pity into action. Go prove him wrong.” 

“Well… I mean,” he says weakly, gesturing to the coffees. “I’m gonna try.” 

“He deserves a lot more than a coffee,” Louise warns him, but she nods in approval, grabbing the syrup to add an extra drizzle on what Phil assumes she intends to be Dan’s cup. “Okay, go on then. Before they get cold.”

Phil nods, sheepish as he collects the mugs, head down. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Hey, hot stuff,” she calls as he turns to go, making him pause. She gives him a tiny smile, softening. “It’s good to have you back.”

He laughs humourlessly. “Yeah? Even though I’m a cruel, heartless wanker now?”

Louise shoots him a cheeky wink. “This place isn’t the only thing that never changes.” 

*

A knock on the door wakes Dan at an hour way too early to be reasonable. He drags himself out of the covers anyway, nearly toppling to the carpet on his way over to the door on his bed-legs. Before he wrenches it open, he spies his mask hanging up on the back, over the peephole, so grabs it and shoves it on. Instead of the hotel worker Dan expects to find on the other side of the door however, Phil stands there, nervously dithering in the hall that connects their rooms, two mugs in his hands. 

“Hey,” he greets, then furrows his brow. “Why’re you wearing a mask in bed?” 

Dan rips it off his face, embarrassed for some reason. He’s in his rumpled pyjamas, or what passes for them these days (Phil’s baggy gym t-shirt that he loves because it’s loose and swamps him, and tattered tartan bottoms that he dug out of a charity bin in some second hand store), with sleep-caked eyes and a birds nest of curls, while Phil stands there showered and dressed. Casually dressed, in thermals and a hoodie, but dressed nonetheless. 

“I wasn’t,” he grumbles crossly, turning from Phil so he won’t get more of an eyeful of his dishevelled appearance. He crosses towards the bed, scrubbing his eyes with his fist as he goes to get rid of the sleep dust. When he turns, he expects Phil to have followed him, but he remains in the doorway, hovering. “Well come in, then.”

“Thanks,” Phil answers with a relieved smile, then crosses the threshold, and kicks the door closed behind him. _Odd_. “I brought you a coffee. From Louise.”

He holds it out, so Dan nods, a bit wary of Phil’s motives. After last night, Dan’s really got no clue where they stand. The kiss was probably a mistake, in hindsight. But the wine had loosened Dan’s resolve to hold back. And Phil had looked stupidly gorgeous, which didn’t help. Now, however, in the cold light of day, Dan’s going to have to set Phil straight if he thinks that things are fine between them. If he thinks that one fairly pleasant date night and a cup of Louise’s coffee will make up for months of neglect. Nevertheless, he takes it from Phil, sipping gratefully, but keeping that wary eye on Phil all the while.

“Did you wake me up at this ungodly hour for a reason?”

Phil smiles like this is a joke, rather than a legitimate question. “Yeah.” He sips his own coffee, watching Dan seat himself on the edge of the bed. “I thought we could go skiing.”

Dan snorts so loud some of his coffee spills. “Tell me you’re joking.” 

“It won’t be like last time.”

“Last time, as in, the time I nearly broke my foot, quickly followed by me vowing to never go skiing with you again?” 

“Yeah,” Phil replies, still smiling. It’s kind of infectious. “I was being a twat that time. I was showing off. Trying to impress you. Not looking after you properly.”

One of Dan’s eyebrows lifts. “Looking after me?” 

Phil winces. “Perhaps not the best phrasing. I just mean that I should have been less focused on teasing, flirting, and pirouetting in front of you, and more on _you_ , the guy I forced out onto the slopes with me despite your inexperience.” 

“Hmm,” Dan grunts, reluctantly agreeing with this statement. “And I’m supposed to believe you’d somehow have grown into a kind and considerate teacher, if I were to agree to ski with you again?” 

“I promise you that you will have a good experience.” 

“That’s a hell of a promise, seeing as I’m all kinds of pissed off with you.”

“You say that as if I have no experience of it,” Phil jokes, which does, unfortunately twitch a smile in the corner of Dan’s mouth. “C’mon, if you’re having a shit time I’ll give you a piggyback ride home. Or you can pelt me with snowballs.”

This perks Dan’s attention. “Now you’re talking.”

Phil grins as if he’s won a prize rather than just signed his death warrant. Dan has scarily good aim. 

“Do we have a deal?” 

Dan eyes him over the lip of his mug as he takes another glorious caramelly drink. “Fine. But I mean it about the snowball thing. The second I’m not having fun, you’re for it, mate.” 

He gives Dan a dramatic bow. “I’ll go skin up.”

*

The only skis Mona has available are the old pair he left here, that Dan had fixed, and a newish pair that she had bought for Kaspar, who now lives up here in the hotel for a few months at a time. With her. In her quarters. She blushes profusely when she explains this, and Phil just smiles in broad understanding.

“Happy for you, Mona. Took you long enough, poor guy.”

She gives him a disapproving look, but she’s smiling. “Yes, well, I suppose I don’t need to explain how that sort of thing can occur in the workplace to you of all people.”

“Oh no, I am a veteran of ill-advised workplace romances,” Phil jokes, accepting the skis from her. 

“If you could keep the skis in your room with you. We can’t store them down here once you have used them.”

“Sure,” Phil replies, smiling. “Thanks.”

“And Phil?” She gives him a hard stare. “Be careful. It’s dangerous out there.”

“Of course, I’m always-”

“I don’t mean dangerous for you.”

*

Two steps out of the door in the skis, Dan realises his terrible mistake. First of all, the tundra is blisteringly cold, and his thermals, borrowed from Phil, are not up to the job of keeping it at bay. Second, the skis are just as wildly difficult to manage as he remembers them being. Third, and perhaps worst of all, despite all promises, Phil is being just as much of a twat as he had been last time. Perhaps it’s the feeling of being back out here, in his element, that has caused a resurgence of his most insufferable side. Dan can see, sort of, how it might be easy to slip back into that righteous, superior sense of self, but still. It’s _maddening_. 

“Just push your weight into your toes,” Phil says, like this is simple. “Lean into it, it’s intuitive.”

“Knocking someone’s teeth out can also be intuitive,” Dan mutters under his breath. 

They’re only a short way into the hike out towards the slope. Dan is going slow, relying heavily on the ski poles to move, while Phil glides in circles around him, effortless. 

“Not like that,” he says, infuriatingly, “you’re not balanced. Try not to lean too much this way.”

Phil is at his elbow, guiding him into the correct stance. Dan pulls free of him, too frazzled to be touched, and overbalances, falling onto his ass. “Ow! Shit.”

“I said to lean the other way!” Phil cries, scrabbling to help him up. Dan scowls at him from his seated position in the snow. He doesn’t let Phil help him upright again; as soon as he stands he’ll have to deal with his soaked trousers. “Come on, hang onto me for a while-”

“ _No_ ,” Dan spits. “Just let me do this on my own!”

Phil pauses, hands raised in front of him. “I’m just making sure you’re not going to hurt yourself again.”

“The whole reason I hurt myself the first time was because you were being a royal prick!” 

As Dan’s furious eyes flash up to meet Phil’s he’s thrown by the bubble of laughter struggling to escape Phil’s lips. The sight of the twitching smile makes Dan pause, and in the next moment, he’s fighting an urge to strangle. 

“You’re behaving like a dick-brain on purpose,” Dan deduces, straightening up into a _perfectly acceptable_ stance in his skis. 

“Thought it might be a nice bump of nostalgia,” Phil says, a lilt to his voice that sounds like a tease. “It was alarmingly easy to slip back into that dick-brain persona, actually.”

“It’s probably been hiding inside of you for two years, itching for the chance to spring out and piss me off,” Dan says gruffly. “Playing a fucking dangerous game, mate. Seeing as I’m already super mad at you.” 

“But look at the fun we’re having now,” Phil jokes, nudging Dan with his elbow. “Besides, joking aside, your stance could use a little tweaking.”

Calmly, without a word, Dan bends down, scoops up a handful of snow, and hurls it into Phil’s face. Stunned, Phil lets the cakey substance drop to the floor before opening his screwed shut eyes. 

Dan meets his glare head on. “I’m not having a good time,” he explains. 

“I was _kidding_!” 

Dan shrugs, sliding past him on the skis. “Still annoying.” 

The sensation of the snowball’s strike is unmistakable, and instantly rage-inducing. It hits Dan in the small of the back, barely enough to feel through all the padding of his big coat, but Dan still throws a murderous glare over his shoulder, then reaches down to unstrap himself from the skis. 

“You fucker,” he growls as his boots pop free. 

Phil shrieks in fright as Dan runs for him, attempting to shuffle backwards on his skis, but he’s got no chance. If they were on a slope, Phil would be faster, but this is flat terrain, and Dan’s boots are far better equipped than some rusty old skis, skins or no skins. He gathers a huge ball of snow in his hands, shaping quickly, and firing at point blank range. It hits Phil in the chest with a satisfying _thwunk_. 

“Ow! No fair!” he cries, bending down to shield himself from further attacks. 

Dan is laughing, cruelly, and realises too late that Phil has unfastened his own straps, allowing his boots to spring free as well. When Phil straightens, a wicked gleam in his eye, and kicks the skis out of the way, Dan freezes. 

“Shit,” he utters, and then all hell breaks loose. 

They’ve barely made it far; the hotel is still visible in the distance, and they have a mile more to cover of the flat snowy ground before reaching the slopes, if Dan remembers right. But even so, the air is crisp, the snow is unblemished, stretching endlessly around them, and suddenly, they’re in a playground, tumbling and somersaulting about in the soft, wet blanket beneath their clunky boots. Dan is a better aim, having actually participated in some school related sports back when he was an insecure teenager desperate to fit in with the other 'lads'. But Phil is from the North, where snow is a frequent occurrence in winter, and so he knows how to build an armoury in seconds flat. They hurl snow at one another until their fingers are numb inside of their sopping gloves, until they can feel the snow inside of their clothes, dissolving against their skin. They call taunts, and battle cries, and laugh until their sides ache. 

As a final act to demonstrate his fury, Dan pelts Phil in the shoulder, then lunges at him, tackling him straight to the ground. Phil falls on his back with a groan, and Dan pins him there, panting, alive with the adrenaline and the sense of victory. Phil’s acid blue eyes gleam up at him from within his unshaven, snow-dusted face. His hood is up, giving him a fluffy halo. He’s smiling wide. 

“I surrender,” he says between laboured breaths. “You win.”

“Damn right I do,” Dan replies, but doesn’t get off him. 

It’s alien, to be on top of him like this, after so long. He’d forgotten how wide Phil’s hips are, how it pulls his legs apart to sit astride him. They hold their unbroken stare for a drawn out minute. And then Phil gives him a second, wearier, fonder smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He puts his gloved hand over Dan’s, an unspoken affection that splinters the ice caking Dan’s heart.

He falls forwards, lost in the warmth that, despite their location, floods through his veins. He kisses Phil deeply, with no scrap of hesitance, nothing held back, and Phil opens up: a withered flower tasting the early spring rain. Dan feels arms closing around him, strong and comforting, holding them closely together in the deep well they’ve made. If it snowed again now, they’d be covered over, buried here, entwined together, like those couples they find on mountainsides, frozen to death in one another’s arms. He pulls back, sniffing, and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. 

“Remind me again why I haven’t been making out with you every day of my life?” Phil asks, looking dazedly up at the sky. 

“Can’t answer that one,” Dan mutters bitterly. “I’ve been ready and waiting.” 

Phil ‘hmm’s to himself, brow creased. “Such an idiot,” he mumbles. “I almost lost you.”

Dan tucks his cold hands beneath his armpits, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Haven’t quite found me yet.”

Phil focuses on him, miserable. “Yeah, I know.” His hand, still on Dan’s, squeezes. “I’m going to, though. Not about to let the love of my life just slip out of my grasp.” 

At this, Dan’s eyes sting so badly that he has to blink a tear free. He tries not to react, but the words are like a creeping poison, threading agony through his whole body. “What?” he whispers, stricken. “The love of your life?”

Phil nods, like this is a normal thing to just mention, unprecedented. “Of course you are.”

Dan looks at him, tracking his expression in an attempt to read it. Phil looks pretty sincere. “I don’t even know how to deal with that, honestly. If that’s true, then what the fuck have you been playing at?” 

“I don’t know,” Phil sighs, head tipping back into his hood. “I’m an idiot, as we established.” He pauses, thinking. “And a dick-brain.”

“Mmm,” Dan says, looking off towards the next peak over. 

“Do you still love me?” Phil asks then, like a sucker-punch. 

Dan wants to be able to leave him high and dry, to just not answer and let him wallow in the misery he’s created, wondering whether he’s fucked up irreversibly. But the painful truth is that he _does_ love Phil, has loved him long and hard and unfalteringly, all this time. He sometimes scares himself imagining that the love he has for Phil is etched into his bones, that if he peeled back his skin he’d see their names carved crudely into the white, chalky matter that holds his body together, keeps his heart from bursting out and presenting itself to Phil as a gift. He can’t do something so cruel to someone he loves in such a way. 

So, Dan nods, getting up as he does so. “Yes,” he whispers. “Let’s go back now. Think I’ve had enough skiing for today.” 

*

 _Dan still loves him_. It’s the win Phil needed, to keep him motivated in the long, arduous journey that he’s setting out on, to lure Dan back into his arms. Their date today, rolling around in the snow, freezing and perfect, had been unexpected. As had the kissing, which Dan instigated - another good sign. But Phil is not about to let these positive turns distract him from the ultimate goal. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’s changed Dan’s mind yet; the path in front of him is steep, still. Now, they sit together in front of the fire, on cushions on the floor in the mezzanine, a hot chocolate each.

“Okay,” Dan sighs, setting down his mug. “I’ve thawed now. Might go take a nap.” 

“Oh,” Phil says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Sure.”

Dan waits, poised to rise, staring at him with an incomprehensible expression. “Thanks for another hellish ski trip.” 

“A nice throwback.” 

“A nice dip into past traumas, yeah.” 

“Dan?”

He swallows, Adams apple bobbing. “Yeah?”

“Have dinner with me again tonight?” 

He hesitates, and Phil’s heart stumbles over its next beat. 

“Okay,” he says eventually, with a reluctance that Phil pretends not to see, then stands, awkward and stiff because both of their limbs ache. “See you later, then.”

*

Tonight’s dinner is a delicious tagliatelle dish. Dan can barely eat a mouthful. It’s unusual, in their dynamic, for Dan to be the one off his food. He can tell Phil is worried by it, so he forces another forkful into his mouth, and nearly chokes on it. He swallows a huge gulp of water, forcing it down his gullet, and his eyes water with the effort. 

“Are you okay?” Phil asks, fork hovering nervously above his plate. 

Dan nods, swallowing repeatedly to choke down his food. “Fine,” he manages. He moves the pasta around with his fork, twirling it as though he might lift it to his mouth. 

Phil’s fork clacks heavily to the table. “You’re being weird.”

A protest is on the tip of Dan’s tongue, but as his eyes meet Phil’s, he lets it die. Instead, he places his own fork down and sighs, wishing he’d accepted Phil’s offer to get them another bottle of wine earlier. 

“I can’t get it out of my head,” Dan confesses, hushed. “What you said earlier. About me being the love of your life.” 

“Oh.” Phil’s brow creases. To him, it seems to have been a throwaway comment. To Dan, it’s earth-shattering knowledge, if true. “Sorry if it freaked you out…”

Briefly, Dan puts his head in his hands. When he lifts up again, Phil’s expression is mildly alarmed. “That’s not a role I think I can fill.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Phil says, snorting. “You don’t need to do anything. It’s how I feel about you.” 

“Don’t you think,” Dan says slowly, trying to select the least provocative words to explain his current turmoil, “that there are people out there far better suited to being the love of your life, than me?”

Exasperated, Phil lifts a hand into the air. “Maybe! How should I know?” Dan blinks a few times, chewing his lip. Phil reaches across the table towards him, resting his hand palm-upwards. “But I don’t want anyone else.”

“You’ve just infatuated yourself with me,” Dan chokes out, his throat growing tight. “I was the life raft when you jumped ship from an abusive marriage, you don’t know that I’m the best you’ll get-”

“Dan,” Phil interrupts. His voice is harsh. Almost angry. “Stop it. You’re talking yourself out of it.”

“Out of what?” 

“Us! Trying to fix us!” 

He snatches back his hand; Dan has to swallow a sob. “But maybe this isn’t meant to _be_ fixed. I can fix anything, you said once, and this doesn’t look fixable-” 

“Of course it’s fixable,” Phil protests, a wild, panicked look in his eye, “if we just put the effort in-”

“No,” Dan cries, whiny and grating, because he reverts to the demeanour of a five-year-old when he’s upset. “Phil, you’re doing such huge, important work. You need someone that can match your level of drive and professionalism, someone who can work with you, that won’t be too shit-scared to speak up in a meeting when you need him. You need a partner, not some lost, vulnerable nobody that demands your attention and sucks up your time and money. I don’t know how to be the person you need. I don’t think I _can_ be that person. You need to find someone different, because I’m not- I’m not _good_ enough. You’re so _good_. Everyone agrees, Louise agrees. You’re too _good_ for-”

“Don’t you dare say I’m too good for you, Dan.” 

Dan shoves his plate away, blinking back hot tears. “It’s true, though. That’s why it’s so easy to let me fall to the sidelines. That’s why you can go three months without noticing me-”

“Dan, I’ve been a selfish idiot for three months. That’s the only reason there is, and I take full responsibility. I hate that I’ve made you feel like this, but at the same time, you need to recognise that these feelings you’re having aren’t new. You said all of this to me before, back when we first got together. About being expendable. Feeling worthless and useless. These insecurities aren’t _true_ , they’re just bubbling up again because I’ve been acting like a prick.” 

“Yeah,” Dan says thickly, hardly able to hear anything above the roar of hurt and humiliation. “I need to be alone, I think.” 

He pushes his chair back, standing shakily. Phil is on his feet in the next second, but Dan holds a hand out to keep him at bay. As soon as he’s upright, everything he’s been holding in seems to drop, slide through him in a whoosh. Tears fall to his cheeks, and he turns quickly to hide them from Phil’s sight. Blindly, he snatches his mask off the table and secures it to his face, just as he’s stumbling to the balcony door. As he barges through it, he nearly knocks into Mona coming the other way, but she jumps out of his path, thankfully.

“Sorry,” he mutters, striding away from her, across the brightly lit mezzanine, where the eyes of a few guests eating dinner follow him curiously.

He gets to the stairs quickly enough, power walking most of the way, and hurtles up them two at a time. Only when he’s securely in his room, behind a closed and locked door, does he allow himself the luxury of falling apart. He sobs into the crook of his elbow, curled on the bed, until the soft knocking at his door prompts him to stifle the sounds. 

“Dan?” Phil’s voice calls, gentle and terribly despondent. “Dan, I just want to say goodnight. I know this is… crap. This is a lot. It’s emotional, and difficult. I hear what you’re saying, okay? I hear your concerns, and I- I wish you’d told them to me sooner. But I know I might not have listened. So thank you for telling me now.”

He falls quiet. Dan lifts his head a little, wondering if he’s said his piece, and will go. If he’s waiting for Dan to respond. He holds his tongue. 

“I love you,” Phil says then, small and tentative. “Everything you laid out back there makes perfect sense, logically. We’re not a perfect match. But I don’t care about that. I love you and it doesn’t need to make sense. I know you’re finding it tough watching me be AmazingPhil when you’re still finding your way. But I’d give it all up to love you forever, Dan. I really would.” 

His footsteps retreat then, with a final rap of his knuckles, softly, on the door. Dan listens, head still raised off his tear-soaked pillow, as Phil’s door opens, then clicks shut behind him.

It’s a few hours before Dan hears the first notes. A vibrant, complex melody, interwoven with strings and piano. A beautiful piece. One that always reminds Dan of laying right here, eyes damp, wondering about the man on the other side of the wall. The blood in his ears pulses with the beat, until he feels them ache, the canals threatening to suture themselves shut so he won’t have to hear the cadence bring it all to an end. Finally, overcome with the grief of it all, Dan heaves himself out of bed, propelled by a force beyond his control, towards the door. 

*

Phil’s door creaks as it’s pushed open. He starts in alarm, first because his minibar-whiskey drunk and disoriented brain is scared of intruders, second because he realises it has to be Dan. He stays still as Dan creeps across the floor to the bed, held in place by the swirling music that still pours from the speakers, engulfing the crisp midnight air. Dan slides straight beneath the covers, a pocket of warmth that spreads to Phil through the bedclothes at once, making him want to reach out and drag him closer. He keeps his arms by his sides, hardly daring to breathe too hard lest he scare Dan away. He hadn’t expected this at all, given how their evening had ended. Dan had seemed to want total isolation, rather than the closeness of Phil beside him. When Phil had heard him crying through the wall, as he used to, the music had seemed like a way to reach out, more poignant than just a text, or another unanswered knock on his door.

Instead the music seems to have coaxed him to Phil's side, in the way Phil probably secretly hoped it would, back when they were near-strangers, and Dan was just a pretty, nervous creature that wandered the periphery of his daydreams, that cried in the dead of night, when he thought nobody would hear. Dan shimmies closer at once, his arms snaking across Phil’s waist, sinking into the divots and crevices he’s grown so used to resting his body into. He feels limp and worn out, like a cloth doll, ragged from being too-vigorously played with. As Dan’s face buries into Phil’s neck, it becomes obvious how hard he’s crying. Like a rubber band pinging against his bare skin, Phil feels the sting of his protectiveness, snapping to attention at once to pull Dan into him. His hands smooth over Dan's back, one slipping up the back of his neck, carding through his tufts of curly hair. 

“Hey,” Phil whispers, heart suddenly racing, “hey, it’s okay. Shh, don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

Instead of answering, Dan draws back, just enough to tilt his face up and press his wet, quivering lips to Phil’s. It’s sloppy, and misses Phil’s mouth almost entirely, but Phil gets it, gets what he needs, so kisses back fiercely, fitting their lips together in the way he’s done so many times. Dan’s body instantly relaxes, his nails digging into Phil’s waist. He holds Phil closely to him, an urgency in the way he chases the kisses Phil presses to him. 

After a minute, he fits a cold hand between their mouths, pressing his fingertips to Phil’s lips as he says, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“Dan,” Phil whispers, heart cracking in two. 

“Shh,” Dan says, taking his hand away. In the low light, it’s hard to see, but Phil thinks he catches a glisten in Dan’s eyes, still. “Don’t. Just kiss me. Kiss me like you miss me too.”

“I do,” Phil insists, rolling him onto his back, intending to prove his point. 

In the minutes, hours, that follow, words don’t feel necessary. The music fades, then dies, and Phil kisses Dan until his lips are sore, until he can barely tell where Dan’s end and his begin. He thinks he may be crying too, at some stage, but it’s hard to say whether it might just be Dan’s tears slicking his cheeks. Dan’s hands tremble, almost worryingly, as they caress Phil’s back and shoulders; he seems to want to cling, to wind his fingers into the shirt Phil’s wearing, but he can’t form a proper grip. 

They don’t have sex.

It’s not that Phil doesn’t try, doesn’t want to, desperately in fact. Dan is an angel, pure and soft and yielding, but he slides his hand down Dan’s waist, slots his leg between Dan’s thighs, and Dan shakes his head, firmly, vehemently. 

“No, just kiss me,” he begs, broken and crackly through his tears, so Phil does. 

He tries, instead, to pour all of his love, his guilt, his apology, into the way his lips drag against Dan’s skin. He kisses Dan over every inch of his damp, blotchy face. He kisses Dan down his neck, pulling whimpers out of him that he hasn’t heard for months. He kisses Dan’s fluttering hands, his fingertips, the creases of his elbows. He kisses Dan in every way he can think of until finally, finally, he feels Dan loosening, slackening, the tears drying up. 

“Are you sleepy, darling?” Phil asks, the pet name - which Dan has never been sure about - slipping out in his swamping feelings of extreme fondness.

He passes a hand over Dan’s forehead, sweeping the damp hair back. Dan manages a small smile. It’s enough to make Phil’s heart soar, under the circumstances. He nods, just couple of jerks of the chin downwards, his eyes already slipping closed. 

“Go to sleep, it’s okay,” Phil assures him, settling down into the pillows and opening his arms. "I'll be here." Dan rolls over, away from Phil, and shuffles back into the embrace - a position both of them are accustomed to. Dan is the most insistent and stubborn of little spoons. “I love you,” Phil tells him, firmly but quietly, then kisses the shell of his ear. “Sweet dreams.” 

“S’rry for snotting all over you,” Dan mumbles, half intelligible. Phil chuckles, nosing into the fluffy hairs at the back of Dan’s neck. 

“Worth it,” he replies. It’s not even a semblance of a lie. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly recommend listening to Troye Sivan's 'Easy' while reading/thinking about this epilogue. Lots of similar themes.

For the first time since arriving back at The Secret of the Alps, Dan feels too warm when he wakes up. It’s a distantly familiar warmth, weighted and sticky where skin presses against skin. Dan had forgotten, briefly, what it felt like to stir from sleep cocooned in Phil’s arms, but he remembers now. It irritated him once, he recalls, because Phil sleeps like the dead, not moving from whatever position he drifts off in, so Dan - a restless, fidgety sleeper - often struggles to free himself of the embrace Phil tends to wrap him in.

He can tell immediately that Phil is not awake yet. Nowadays, Phil is an early riser, but that’s only due to his diligent mobile phone alarms, and he hasn’t set one today. So he’ll sleep on, undisturbed, for hours unless woken. Dan yawns, surrendering to the heat and closeness, which will not be easily escapable for some time yet. He doesn’t really mind, he finds, which is a little surprising, considering how negatively he’s been feeling about his and Phil’s relationship for the past few days. But regardless of everything that’s occurred, Dan loves being held, and he loves hearing the slow, deep breaths Phil takes right by his ear. 

He even loves the morning wood he can feel pressing into his buttcheek through Phil’s pyjama bottoms. As the snow flurry of Dan’s mind settles into a blanket of coherence, he probes at the idea of this latter revelation a little more, testing his own reaction to it. 

It’s been difficult, in all honesty. Trying to suppress his own body’s desires so that things don’t get complicated, when, to be frank, he’s so horny for Phil - who frequently struts around with stubble and bed hair and clothes that are big and expose shoulders and hips and collarbones - he could scream. To stop his own lust from overpowering his sense and ruining the progress he’s made getting through to Phil, Dan’s just been shutting down any attempts to do more than kissing. It would not be wise, right now, to go any further. It would only create confusion, weaken his argument. 

_But_ …

Dan’s hips shift back, just to test how hard Phil is right now. It’s immediately apparent that the answer is _very._ Poor guy. He’s, understandably, not that used to Dan not being immediately receptive to any and all seductions. Dan is a young man, only recently having discovered the wonders of sex with men, and sex with Phil in particular. For most of their relationship, he's been so up for it, at all times, that he's sometimes had to rein himself in in case he comes off as a sex maniac. And now, he's shutting Phil down whenever he even tries to get close, so, whilst he hasn’t verbally admitted to any feelings of frustration, Dan knows Phil must be pretty riled up. 

Of their own accord, Dan’s hips push back again, muscle memory pressing the outline of Phil’s dick to the crease between his cheeks. Even through their clothes, the sensation makes him shiver. Phil’s breathing stutters, his nose burying into Dan’s hair. 

“Oh, Christ,” Dan mutters to himself, as he feels his own dick begin to perk up in interest. 

His resolve is already crumbling. Everything is so warm, and soft, and there’s hail pattering against the big windows, and Phil smells like hotel shampoo: berry-sharp and enticing. Dan bites his lip, trying to think through the consequences of chasing his growing lust. Surely it wouldn’t ruin things, if he were just to indulge himself once? They don’t have to have full-on, penetrative sex. Just a little fool around... in the early morning, before the day has even really opened up around them. That's okay, isn't it?

He shifts his lower body, angling his bum better, and rubs over Phil’s erection. By his ear, Phil makes a soft, pleased noise; Dan sinks further against him, revelling in the familiar build of want low in his gut, the curl of his toes in the covers. He senses it when Phil wakes up, the way his body reanimates, his arms pulling Dan close for a moment, hips shifting into the push of Dan’s bum against him. And in the next moment, Dan feels how Phil tenses, recognising what’s happening, and shifts himself away.

“No,” Dan moans, sliding his hand back over Phil’s hip, keeping him close. “Stay.”

“Oh,” Phil utters, falling back into the position he’d woken in. His hand creeps up Dan’s waist, tentatively rucking up the shirt to get at the skin beneath. Sighing happily, Dan reaches up, winds an arm around Phil’s neck to pull him even closer, and resumes his slow, rhythmic rubbing. “Ohh,” Phil groans, quietly, the word lost to a sigh. He buries his nose back into the hairs at the base of Dan’s skull; his warm exhales make Dan shiver. “Dan,” he murmurs. “So good.” 

“Come on,” Dan urges, pushing back into him more firmly, “I’m not doing all the work.”

Phil chuckles, then tilts his hips forwards, meeting Dan’s clumsy backwards thrusts. Instantly, everything improves. Phil’s dick, hard and straining against the fabric of his sweats, slides along the groove of Dan’s cleft. His breath hitches as he pushes against Dan, his arms tightening around Dan’s middle. It doesn’t take long; Phil woke up hard and now must be aching with it. His thrusts become shorter, faster, the mattress wobbling, the posts of the bed shuddering. Dan encourages him through it, murmuring to him to come against him. He grips Dan tight as he obeys, his cock pulsating as he soaks the front of his sweatpants, and the back of Dan’s pyjamas. He whispers sweet things into Dan’s ear as he rides the high, things that Dan instinctively tries not to let burrow into him, but fails. _‘You’re so perfect, I love you so much, I love waking up with you, I love you, I love you-’_

“Hey,” Phil says, turning Dan in his arms, gently, to get a look at his face. “You okay?”

He’s got that blissed out, loose expression of post-orgasmic bliss on his face. Dan reaches up to shift the hair from where it dangles over one blue eye. “Mmmhmm.”

“That wasn’t like… you _were_ asking for that, weren’t you? You-”

“Yes, Phil,” Dan replies, amusement twitching his mouth. “I wanted you to rut against me until you came in your pants, and you delivered.” 

Phil smiles back, that twinkle in his eye he gets when they speak of naughtier things. “Any other whims I can satisfy this morning, Mr Howell?”

He leans himself over Dan to kiss him, slowly, but without much tongue. His hands wander down Dan’s front, back to the stomach he’s exposed in the throes of things, and then lower, until he’s inching down Dan’s waistband. Quickly, before he can even get a handle on his thoughts, Dan catches Phil by the wrist, heart thumping. 

Phil pauses, leaning back with a question on his face. “I… Did you-”

“I’d like to wait,” Dan blurts, half-formed arguments battling for position in his mind. Everything is clouded by the shimmering, pulsating lust still coating everything. “I want to take things slow,” he forces himself to say. 

Phil raises an eyebrow, eyes darting down to the spot, concealed by the covers, where Dan’s erection is pressing into his hip. “Okay…”

“I know we just did… that,” Dan explains, hurriedly, “but I don’t want to just let this turn into make up sex and then fall back into how things were-”

“It won’t-”

“Hold on,” Dan interrupts, pushing fingers against Phil’s mouth. “I know you’re gonna say that that wouldn’t happen, but we’re not the world’s best at sorting out our problems without diving into each others’ pants. I want you," he assures Phil, the truth of it cracking his voice, "really bad, but I also know that I haven’t completely forgiven you yet, so I just want to go slow. Build up the other stuff, the important stuff, make sure we find our footing without the sex, first.” 

He removes his fingers, anticipating annoyance, maybe even fury. Instead, when he takes his hand away, a beaming smile stares back at Dan. “So, this means there’s a chance? For us?” 

Dan blinks, having thought that last night, what with his embarrassing crawling into Phil’s arms, spoke for itself. “I want us to work,” he says, in case Phil didn’t know. “It’s just...hard. To see how we can.” 

*

The day starts off spectacularly well for Phil, who literally awakes to an orgasm, and though there’s a worrisome moment following it, the rest of the day actually maintains a steady level of enjoyment. Once Dan has made his stance on reciprocated sexual shenanigans clear, he slopes off to the shower, probably to relieve his impressive erection in private, and Phil calls down to the kitchen to beg Louise for breakfast sent up to their room. She obliges, mostly because Phil relays to her the precarious situation he’s managed to create - Dan, willingly in his room, having slept in his bed all night long - and tells him she’s made pastries which she’ll send up. So, Dan emerges from the shower to Phil, with his head stuck out of the suite door, carefully balancing a tray of breakfast goods in his hands as he calls a thank you to the new girl that’s lurking way down the corridor to avoid germs. 

“Leave it outside when you’re done,” she calls back, crossly, then stomps away. 

Phil toes the door closed and grins at Dan, holding the tray aloft with a flourish. “Ta da!”

“The coffee pot’s spilling,” Dan points out, so Phil swiftly locates a surface and puts it down. 

They enjoy danish swirls and beignets, and some sort of cream-filled pastry cone that must be a Swiss thing. It’s all delicious, and they get crumbs all over the bed, but they’re going to have to change the sheets anyway after this morning’s events. After a coffee, Dan is always far more amenable, so he lets Phil tuck him into the crook of his arm while they scroll through stupid TikTok videos on Dan’s phone. 

“Ugh,” Dan says, clicking impatiently at the pop-up box that springs up during a dog video, reading ‘Low battery: 20% battery remaining’. “My charger’s in the other room. Let’s just use your phone.”

“Err, no, that’s okay,” Phil says, placing Dan’s phone down. “You can just use my charger.” He wriggles out of their tangled position, trying to remember where the charger is. “I think I left it over by the desk…”

Watching him curiously, Dan sits upright. “Phil, it’s fine, I’m just being lazy. I’ll grab mine later. Just chuck me your phone, we can find the dog video again.” 

Phil turns, hovering by the edge of the bed, trying to think of a way out. “Um. I don’t… want to.” 

“O-kay,” Dan says slowly, eyebrow cocked. “Because I might hack your password? Mister 5, 6, 7, 8?” 

Phil sighs, then drops to a crouch, scrabbling under the bed to find the phone he’d flung under there two days ago. When he brings it up, the screen is lightly dusty, so he wipes it on the covers before chucking it to Dan. 

“It’s off,” Dan says, jabbing at it. He lifts his eyes to Phil’s, realisation dawning. “Oh.” 

“I thought it’d be better if I eliminated all distractions,” Phil explains. 

“You haven’t turned it on since…?”

“Since you yelled at me the other day,” Phil admits. “I turned off my computer too. I’ve been AWOL from the company for nearly three days.” 

“What!” Dan sits up even straighter. It’s not the right time to think it, but Phil can’t help weakening at the sight of him, drowned in his faded t-shirt, hair mussed from where Phil’s had his face buried in it. A patch of rosacea glows pink and pretty on his cheek. “Phil, that’s completely irresponsible! You’re the founder of a company, you can’t just fuck off without a moment’s notice-”

“Actually I can,” Phil tells him, shrugging. “ _Because_ I’m the founder. I created something really cool, but it’s got legs of its own now. And I can’t spend my whole life checking for obstacles while it stumbles along.” 

Dan stares at him, outwardly brimming with protestations. “It’s barely two years off the ground, you ninny, you need to-”

Phil flops back onto the bed, leaning back to kiss him. “Dan, please listen to me. I love that company. It was my dream, and I’m so proud of it. But you’re the one who helped me to realise the dream. It’s _you_ that encouraged me to invest my time and money into it, and planned everything out with me, and listened to me complain about it for years. You’re the one that stuck with me to see it come true. It’s pointless if I put you through all of that, only to lose you. AmazingPhil Inc. is worthless to me if I don’t have you.”

Dan’s face crumples, and he tries to turn, hide it away, but Phil pulls him back around, then into a hug. He falls into it, limp, his arms coming lightly around Phil’s shoulders. “You’ve probably got so many angry emails.”

“Ninety percent of which are from Cornelia, I should think,” Phil agrees. 

“Seriously, though,” Dan says, sniffing. He raises his head to look Phil in the eye. “I'm touched that you went off grid for me. But also, you're an idiot. You need to check your messages.” 

*

It’s as painful as he’d imagined, the flurry of emails, texts, Facebook messages, calendar notifications, and missed calls. Phil had expected a lot, but he’d tried not to estimate a number, in case he scared himself into breaking his resolve. Now, under Dan’s intense gaze, he scrolls through the litany of angry words that spring onto his computer screen the moment he boots it up. 

“Well?” Dan asks, the other side of his laptop, biting his thumbnail. 

“It’s uh. It’s not that bad,” Phil lies. 

Dan rolls his eyes, swivelling the laptop round to face him. “Shit,” he says, eyes flitting over the screen. “Okay, I’m gonna make some coffee, you’re gonna spend the next two hours replying to these, and then we’re gonna play video games.”

“Video games?” Phil asks.

“Yeah. There’s a Playstation 2 over there. Did you not notice?” 

“Err… no, actually, but-"

“You’re gonna need to wind down after dealing with that. Two hours. Tell everyone you’re quarantining in a place with limited signal and delegate jobs to your other staff while you’re less available. I’ll order macchiatos and see what games we’ve got to work with.” 

Phil stares at Dan, who has morphed into an authoritative, heroically organised consultant that is offering up a perfect route out of the hell displayed so horribly on his screen. “I love you,” he blurts, and Dan snorts, batting him away, but his cheeks pinken. 

*

“I can’t do this,” Phil complains, face buried in the crook of his elbow, cowed over his laptop keyboard. “There’s too much going on. We need more funding, or better management, or some sort of government support-”

“Tell me the problem,” Dan says calmly, half bent around the back of the television, trying to cram outdated wires into the appropriate slots. 

“Rebecca is threatening to shut the whole project down because there’s no manpower-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dan interrupts, slipping out from behind the telly to plant his full attention on Phil’s miserable face. “Who’s Rebecca?” 

“Rebecca Whitehall. Head of the _Zentrum für gefährdete Frauen_ in Frankfurt. She hates us with fervour for stepping on her toes which is ridiculous, because we all want the same goal-”

“Okay, okay, ignore that. Doesn’t matter what her reasons are, the point is she’s out to get you, right?”

Phil looks surprisingly attentive. “Right.” 

“So there needs to be mediation if you’re going to get her off your back.” 

“Right,” Phil says again, glancing back at his screen. “Mediation, yeah. How?”

“Well, what does she want?” 

“God knows,” Phil says, carding a hand through his hair. “A new, shinier pitchfork to wield?” 

Ignoring the joke, Dan sidles over, then sits in the chair opposite Phil’s, wanting to keep them on topic. He found a copy of Crazy Taxi in the TV cabinet, and he’s not about to let some salty bitch prevent him from introducing the game to Phil. 

“So, ask her what the AmazingPhil team can do to make her happy. Suggest that you work with her organisation, even, rather than trying to elbow into an area she’s probably been working in for twenty years.”

“That’s…” Phil’s eyes widen as the words sink in. “Fuck. That’s a good idea.”

Dan nods, gesturing for him to hurry up with it. “Do it yourself. Don’t get Cornelia to do it, or it won’t look sincere. Make it sound heartfelt. Emphasise that thing you said about you both wanting the same goal, to help disadvantaged women in a crisis.”

Phil begins typing almost immediately, mouthing the words Dan has spoken as his fingers fly over the keys. After a minute or two, he looks up, eyes full of shiny gratitude, and Dan has to get up, move away, lest he melt right through the floor. 

*

Once Phil has sent apologies to everyone in the team, given an updated notice that he’s ‘here, but only contactable for emergencies’, promoted Cornelia to temporary director, and summarised Dan’s ingenious idea to deal with Rebecca, then reached out to Rebecca personally, he closes his laptop, switches his phone to silent, and heads for the seating area. Dan is lounged across one of the sofas, Playstation controller in hand, playing some kind of car game that seems to involve mowing down most things in his path. 

“Hey,” Phil says, feeling strangely awkward. 

Dan pauses the game, tilting his head back to smile. “Hey. Come sit.” 

He moves his feet, but only a fraction, which Phil knows means he wants Phil to squeeze himself on the end of the sofa so Dan can rest his feet on his lap. Phil smiles back, fondly rolling his eyes as he places himself in the expected spot, and Dan’s feet lower into position. He takes one in his hands and begins rubbing it, the way Dan likes, and Dan makes a pleased noise, then resumes the game. At first, the goal of the game is inexplicable to Phil, but as he settles back into the soft cushions, as his hands find their rhythm in massaging Dan’s sole, as the loud rock music and stupid cries of indignation from the NPC’s of the game chase the work-related stresses away, Phil finds he’s enjoying watching Dan play. 

“This game is so stupid,” he laughs once Dan’s time runs out, and his stats display on screen. “Let me have a go.”

It’s wonderfully easy to fall into this lazy, funny, fondly competitive bubble with Dan, playing a stupid, years-old video game on the couch, drinking macchiatos they are definitely annoying Louise by calling down to get sent up, and occasionally descending into a lighthearted bickering, followed by tickling, wrestling, and a little bit of making out. The latter is usually started by Dan, who uses kissing as a tactic to distract Phil from the game, or to win an argument. Unfailingly, it works. 

Before Phil knows it, Dan is yawning, and when he glances out of the huge windows, the mountains are a deep, darkening blue. “Shit, what time is it?” 

Dan shrugs. He never did go and retrieve his charger from the other room. They both crane their necks to try and see the clock on the bluetooth speaker. It’s nearly 6pm. 

“We’ve truly utilised this day,” Dan comments, but there’s a satisfied, happy glow radiating from him. Phil crawls over him to kiss his golden skin, on both cheeks. “Mmph. You still wanna kiss me even though I haven’t moved from this seat in seven hours?” 

“You’ve gotten up to pee a couple of times,” Phil points out, then kisses him again, on the mouth this time. 

“You’re right, I’m a real catch.”

Phil smiles down at him, then yawns, stretches, sits up. “Can we do this every day?” 

“Work for a bit, then play games?” 

“And make out,” Phil adds, seriously. 

“Well, yeah.” Dan shifts his gaze away. “That’s literally what we _can_ do every day, Phil. If you set yourself some boundaries-”

“Alright, alright.” Phil sighs, shoulders slumping. “You’re right, I know.”

Dan’s mouth turns down at one corner. “I’m not trying to have a go, I just-”

“I know.” Phil places his hand on Dan’s knee, giving him a soft smile. “Maybe today was a glimpse into our future, hm?” 

“Well, in future you’ll probably have to get a little more work done than you did this morning,” Dan says, but he’s smiling back now. “If you can resist the temptation of coming over and battling with me on the couch for that long.” 

“If you’re not sat beside me already,” Phil replies, and Dan’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Huh?” 

But Phil’s idea is only a half-formed wisp of a thing at the moment. He hasn’t given it time to grow roots, to flourish into something that he can present to Dan. So, making sure to plant the idea firmly in the fertile ground at the back of his mind for now, he shakes his head and shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter. Shall we phone down and ask them to set us up our dinner table?” 

“Sure,” Dan says, a little wary. “I’ll go change.” 

Once Dan has disappeared next door, where all of his clothes still are, Phil goes to open his laptop. Ignoring the many distracting work messages that appear, Phil types a quick email to Cornelia, asking her to find money in the budget for an extra salary, equivalent to his, hers, and Martyn’s. 

Her response is so instantaneous that Phil hasn’t even had a chance to close down his email programme. 

**From** : Cornelia Dahlgren

 **To:** Phil Lester

 **Subject** : You’re killing me. 

*

The next few days pass in a similar way, and Dan skirts through them with a lingering feeling that everything is too perfect. A vast, sparkling sheet of ice, that at any moment will crack beneath their feet. They wake together, tangled up tightly, as if their unconscious bodies seek one another out in the night. Dan goes down to get some coffees from Louise for them both while Phil showers, then takes his turn in the bathroom as Phil gets on with some work. He’s on a strict schedule now - shorter than it would usually be because, hey, they’re meant to be quarantining - of two hours in the morning, then a break for lunch (brought up to them by Dan’s fearsome replacement), then another hour in the afternoon. While Phil works, Dan reads books stolen from the mezzanine lounge, or browses the internet on his phone, or pesters Louise. After Phil’s done however - and he always shuts everything down when the allotted work-time is up - they have the whole rest of the afternoon and evening together. They play games, they drink tea, or wine, or hot chocolate, they eat dinner either in the room or down on the balcony. They chat about the past, the times they remember from when they lived here long ago. They laugh and bicker and settle a lot of disputes with Rock, Paper, Scissors. 

One afternoon, a week into quarantine, a week left of this same routine, Phil seems to be going a little stir-crazy indoors, so pleads with Dan to go skiing with him again. Dan point-blank refuses. 

“Just go by yourself,” he says firmly, shooing Phil away. He’s knelt on the floor before the sofa, hands clasped together in a dramatic beg. “You’ll have more fun without me anyway.” 

“That’s not true,” Phil says, pouting. “I love having you with me.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but inside, his heart gives a pleased little pulse. “You know what I mean. I suck. I just slow you down. Last time we didn’t even do any skiing.”

“But I could help you-”

“Phil, if you want to save this relationship, never take me skiing again.” 

Phil can’t help but laugh, then. He sighs, reluctantly getting up from the floor. “Okay,” he sighs. “Are you sure it’s okay if I go? What are you gonna do here?”

“Weep uncontrollably in the corner,” Dan replies, scornfully. “Go on, before it starts to gets dark and I lose you to the wolves.”

Phil frowns out of the window at the mountainscape, like the idea of feral animals hadn’t occurred to him until now. “It won’t get dark for a few hours still. I won’t be long.” 

“Love you,” Dan says distractedly, going back to his phone. 

He doesn’t realise what’s wrong at first. Why Phil’s not leaving. Then, he lifts his head to catch Phil staring at him, frozen to the spot. He replays the last thirty seconds, realising what he’d just said. 

“You haven’t said that in a while,” Phil explains, a bit croaky. 

Not sure what to say, Dan just shrugs one shoulder. In response, Phil strides over, leaning over the back of the sofa to kiss him firmly on the mouth. “I love you too,” he mumbles against Dan’s lips, then straightens up, turns and heads for the door. 

Dan touches his fingers to his tingling lips, a nervous flutter high in his stomach. _Right_ , he decides, the moment he’s alone. _Time to talk to Louise_. 

*

Cornelia rings Phil when he’s about half a mile into the trek out to the slopes. He’s got his headphones in, listening to some new Troye Sivan, so, despite his reservations about talking to her outside of his designated work hours, he answers. It might keep him occupied on the long hike. 

“Okay,” she says by way of greeting, “it’s cost me two nights of sleep and a chunk of my dignity, but I have managed to wrangle the funds for this mysterious new employee you’ve decided to hire without telling anyone.” She pauses, and Phil almost manages to get a word in, but then she continues. “Who is it, anyway? They’d better be good, after the strings I’ve had to pull to find a way to pay them.”

Waiting patiently for her to stop speaking, Phil says, “It’s Dan.” The silence on the other end of the line does not indicate Cornelia’s approval. “Hello? You still there, Corn?”

“I’m here,” she answers, crisply. “Phil…”

“Hey, c’mon, don’t ‘Phil’ me. Who was it lecturing me about his worth?” 

“He’s worth a great deal, Phil, but it sounds a lot like you’re shoe-horning him into your company so that you won’t have to deal with him nagging you. What sort of role could Dan even have-”

“That’s bullshit,” Phil cuts in sharply, halting in his path, suddenly rigid with anger. “I’m not like that, Cornelia. I want him beside me, of course, but I’m not using this as a way to tape up the cracks in our relationship. I’ve been ignoring his talents until now. He’s so bright. So logical, so intuitive. The best, most calm, logical mind I’ve ever seen in a crisis. Since we’ve been cooped up here he’s helped me a ton. When I thought I was gonna tear my hair out over that Rebecca Whitehall thing, he thought of how to fix it in seconds. I don't even think he realised how he saved me there, because I was in deep shit. And now she's quietened down.” 

She’s quiet, then says: “That was his idea? To offer to merge with her?” 

“Yep,” Phil says smugly. “For ideas like that on the regular, wouldn’t you pay someone a decent wage?” 

Her answering sigh is one of resignation, Phil knows. His heart fills with pride. “I suppose. But he’s never shown an interest in joining the company before, I just hope he knows what he’s getting into. The hours, the workload-” 

“I’m going to reshuffle some of the logistics around that when I get back anyway,” Phil says airily, starting up his sliding pace again, “try to improve morale by tweaking the employee details. But whatever, let me deal with how to persuade him into it-”

“You haven’t even _asked_ him yet?!” 

“Gotta go, signal’s bad!” 

“I can hear you _fine_ , you ass,” Cornelia growls. 

“Thanks again for finding room in the budget! Speak later, bye!” 

He hangs up, then quickly switches to Airplane mode so she can’t call straight back. Troye swims back into his ears, soothing and, as usual, a perfect summation of Phil’s emotions over the past few days. 

*

“I’m struggling to see the problem, honestly,” is Louise’s unhelpful response when Dan tells her what happened. 

“Are you not listening?” Dan squeaks. “I said I love him! It just slipped out of me!”

“And… you don’t love him?” 

“What?” Dan leans back from her, affronted. “Of course I love him, that’s not the point-”

“Then please explain the point, because I’m having trouble here.” 

“The point is I had the upper hand! I was doing so well at being cool and distant, giving him nothing and keeping him on his toes and now-”

“Dan…” she leans her elbows onto the serving hatch, passing her manicured hands over her face. “Sweetie, I think you’re failing to realise the objective of your mission.” 

“Err,” Dan says, his heartbeat slowing as the panic recedes. “What?”

“I know we agreed you’d keep up the Morticia Addams act, but only for as long as you needed to, right? You wanted Phil to snap out of his delusion that everything was okay between you, yes?”

“Yes…” 

“And has he?” 

“Well… yes, but-”

“And you wanted him to stop working so much and pay you more attention. Has he done that?”

Dan swallows, shrugging one shoulder. “Yes.” 

“You were gonna withhold sex until you were sure he’s not only interested in your tight little ass, which I’m assuming by now he’s proved he isn’t?”

“Okay, okay, I get it-”

“No, I’m not sure you do. Because, Dan, darling, all this has got to end at some point. There has to be a moment where you make a decision to either cut the guy a break, or dump him on his ass.” 

Dan recoils at this last suggestion, a little surprised at himself in the next moment, because only a few days ago he’d been considering just that. “I don’t want to break up with him anymore,” he admits aloud, so Louise can hear it. “But are you saying that I need to… forgive him? Close the book on this whole thing and move on?”

“No!” she almost groans, then straightens up and dusts down the front of her smock. “God’s sake Dan, the man put you through hell. Don’t let him forget it! But also… he’s a good guy. So maybe ease up on the punishment. We both know how hard he’s trying.”

Dan nods, considering. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense. So, I shouldn’t worry that I told him I love him?”

“No,” Louise confirms. “It’s probably been a great motivator for him, actually. Might make him think his efforts are getting somewhere. And hey, you’ve still got the sex card up your sleeve, if he starts to slip back into old habits.” 

She winks, and Dan avoids her eye. “Ha. Right.”

She groans again. “You’ve broken the no-sex thing already haven’t you.” 

Dan holds up his thumb and forefinger to indicate a teensy bit. “Just a smidge.” She gives him an exasperated look. “But it was only a little, like, frottage!” 

Too late, he realises that might have been quite a loud exclamation to make in the middle of the mezzanine. The couple wheeling their cases along to the stairs, on their way to check out, give him a shocked glance. He cringes away from their gaze, lowering his voice. 

“I didn’t even let him touch me,” Dan says, quieter. “I said I didn’t want to until I was sure it wasn’t just…”

“A meaningless fuck?” Louise suggests. Luckily, the couple are too far down the stairs to hear her. 

Dan colours a little. “Yeah.”

“Well, then the poor lad’s suffered plenty.”

“Hmm.” Dan winces. “It’s… been pretty difficult for me too on that front.”

Louise raises an eyebrow. “No shit. Have you seen that man?”

“Yes. Naked. Lots.” 

“My prayers are with you, Daniel.” 

And as he’s walking away, Louise’s pitying salute replaying in his mind, the last of Dan’s no-sex resolve cracks, then crumbles to nothing. He pauses at the foot of the stairs back up to their rooms, turning to eye the ones leading to the lobby instead. Phil hasn’t been gone long, but perhaps it might be good to wait for him here, to get hands on him as soon as he walks through the door? His feet are on board with this plan, as they are already carrying him in that direction at some speed. He trots down the stairs quickly, striding straight over to the desk to engage Mona in some meaningless conversation until she inevitably grows tired of him and escapes to her office, leaving him to wait for Phil in peace. It's an endurance test like no other now that he's made up his mind to bed him as soon as humanly possible, but Dan _lived_ up here for months. He knows how to wait. 

*

There’s something about the tundra that has always captivated Phil. It’s why he took up skiing in the first place, and it’s certainly why he spent so much time out on the mountainside when he lived up here. Being completely alone, surrounded by nothing except snow, with only his own expertise to ensure he gets home unscathed, is intoxicating. It brings forth a wild thrill that lurks deep within Phil. The part of him that wants to skydive and swim with Great Whites, and explore haunted caves, and drive really, really fast cars. Phil is smart enough to recognise this part of himself needs to be tethered, only fed on occasion, in a safe environment. But he’d forgotten what it felt like to let himself off the leash this way, out here in the open, nobody for miles around. 

He’s reluctant to go back at all, but he promised Dan he’d get back before dark, so he skis as much as he can, then pastes his skins back on, and starts the long trek back to the hotel. It’s hard going, on the way back, muscles sore from the exercise because it’s been years since he skied last. On the way here, it’s an irritating journey, but there’s the excitement of what’s to come propelling him forward. Back at the hotel, all he has to look forward to is a frosty evening with Dan, who, depending on a seemingly random assortment of factors that Phil can’t decipher, either agrees jokes around with him like normal, or glares at Phil like he wants him to drop dead. 

Phil sighs when the hotel peeks over the horizon, his heart heavy. Though he hates himself for thinking it, he’s exhausted by this. The effort of wooing Dan back is draining, and slow going, if it’s even working at all. Today had seemed hopeful, but tomorrow he might fuck up again in some unintentional but disastrous way, and then he’d be back to square one, Dan once again quietly seething, laid on the very edge of the bed, their bodies as far apart as the mountain peaks. 

It’s a surprise, therefore, that when Phil shuffles into the lobby and begins unzipping and unbuckling, Dan is right there, smiley and eager, wrapping him in a hug. He hugs back, pleased but cautious. 

“Hey,” he says carefully, “I’m all snowy. You’ll get wet.” 

“Don’t mind that. You can get me wet anytime,” Dan replies, with something like flirtation in his voice. He winks, and Phil almost misses it. “I ordered us a bottle of prosecco,” he announces. 

Phil shakes his foot free of his unbuckled ski. “Did you? Are we celebrating?”

For a split second, Phil wonders if Dan might have spoken to Cornelia about the job, but he shakes the thought free. She would never go behind his back like that. 

“Yeah,” Dan says, grabbing hold of his hand. He’s got a twinkle of something mischievous in his eye. “Come on, I asked Mona to send it up-”

“Oh! You’re back,” Mona cries from across the lobby, her heels tip-tapping on the floorboards as she hurries towards them. Her mask is a simple black one, but with neat little bows tying it behind each ear. “I hoped I’d catch you both.”

Dan’s smile drops. “Actually Mona, we’re about to go upstairs-”

“For your prosecco, yes,” she interrupts, a little out of breath. “But I thought maybe you’d prefer to have it in the hot tub?”

Phil can’t help it, a little moan slips out at the idea of sinking into a giant tub of bubbling, hot water, soaking away the aches and pains that plague his body after he'd pushed himself to his limit on the slopes. 

Mona laughs. “That sounds like a yes to me.”

“But…” Dan looks stricken. “What about- what about corona?”

“Well, that’s why I mention it now,” Mona explains, gesturing towards the front desk, where a few suitcases are stacked up. “The last lot of guests are leaving today, the Wiltshires, and the new COVID-19 protocol is to drain and clean the tub after each set of guests check out. They only dipped their toes in once, I think, but we’ll still have to do it, so I thought as long as you’re willing to brave the risk of a very slight chance of picking it up from them, you could hop in now and we’ll drain it after, like we were going to anyway. I just thought I’d offer, because I do feel so bad about you not being able to really use the hotel facilities. And having to sit outside to have your meals and things. What do you think?”

Dan casts a desperate look at Phil that is, quite frankly, indecipherable. Phil shrugs a shoulder. To him it sounds incredible, and Mona is a godsend. “Err, well, I’m definitely up for a dip. Dan?” 

Dan’s shoulders sink, which is, again, puzzling. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Thanks so much for thinking of us,” Phil says to Mona, whose eyes crinkle in an answering smile. 

“Just head straight in as soon as you’re changed,” Mona says, gesturing to the door leading to the jacuzzi area. “I’ll have your prosecco sent out there.” 

She beetles off, and Phil turns his attention to Dan, who toes the ground, arms folded. “Hey,” he says, prodding Dan in the bicep. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” he replies with a sigh, then meets Phil’s eye. “I was just… never mind. It’ll be nice in the hot tub.” 

“I can’t wait,” Phil says, rolling his shoulders. “I think I strained a few muscles hiking up the hill the seventh or eighth time.” 

Dan’s eyes train themselves on the place Phil’s fingers creep beneath his jumper to massage his tight shoulder muscle. “Yeah,” he answers, then swallows, not looking away. “This’ll help then.”

“Thanks for the prosecco,” Phil calls, already heading for the stairs. “It’ll be like our first joint jacuzzi experience.”

He thinks he hears Dan sigh, quite loud behind him, as he starts up the steps. 

*

Plans of seduction scuppered for now, by Mona’s infuriatingly considerate nature, Dan reclines against the bench of the hot tub, sipping prosecco, and wondering how to proceed. Now that he’s made the decision to end this sex drought, his libido, which has been hammering on the walls of his stubbornness for quite some time, has broken through and begun throwing the world’s most un-ignorable tantrum. Even now, in this idyllic setting, Dan can feel his body’s craving for the man next to him, naked, wet, and within arm’s reach. What’s worse is that it’s entirely Dan’s fault that Phil isn’t currently just as eager to ravish him, because he’d clearly set out his terms for Phil, that he wasn’t interested in sex until he felt things were more hopeful. And Phil is always the most respectful, attentive lover Dan could hope for. He wouldn’t dream of pressuring Dan into doing anything he had so plainly stated he didn’t want to do. 

So now they’re in a tricky spot, because Dan is going to have to either point blank tell Phil that he wants to be fucked, preferably as soon as possible, or - since that option is acres out of Dan’s comfort zone - he’s going to have to try and seduce him, which is usually not that difficult. But now, Dan’s plan to lead Phil up to the room, ply him with prosecco and wear very little in order to coax him into bed is out the window. Now they’re in the jacuzzi, and Dan can’t very well start feeling him up in the middle of-

Well. _Hang on_.

Dan looks left and right, surveying the immediate area. It is, as always, completely deserted out here. The sauna is empty, the deck is free of footprints that aren’t their own. Nobody will, in all likelihood, come out here at all until he and Phil decide to go back in. Dan fixes his gaze on Phil, how his head tips back to rest on the decking, his shoulders submerged, a jet firing against his upper back. 

“Phil,” Dan says, shimmying a bit closer. 

Phil lifts his head. “Hm?” 

“Does that… feel good?” 

Phil raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Sorting my aches and pains right out.” 

Dan nods, smiles. “Good.” He shuffles closer, until their thighs touch beneath the water. “You’ve always looked so good all wet.” 

A look of surprise passes over Phil’s face, then he laughs, reaching for his glass. “Does this stuff give you prosecco goggles?” 

Dan swallows an urge to splash him. “I mean it. Like the first time we… y’know. When I got in the shower with you.”

“Hmm,” Phil says, a smile spreading over his face. “I remember that. You told me off for leaving a note on my door for you.” 

“Well! You were _married_ , it was a bit obvious.” 

Chuckling now, Phil shakes his head. “No, you told me that a murderer could see it and come axe me to death.” 

“Well, that too.” Dan folds his arms over his chest. This is proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. He sighs, swallowing his prickly nature with another gulp of prosecco, then tries again. “Anyway, that was like, the most turned on I’ve ever been. Seeing you naked and wet in the shower. When you pushed me up against the wall.” 

He shifts towards Phil, twirling a finger over the water’s surface, right above his chest. Phil’s frown is creasing his forehead. “That was the peak of our sex life, was it?”

Dan’s finger stops in its tracks. “What? No, that’s not what I mean-”

“Was it the thrill of being caught or something? By my husband, or Mona, or the axe murderer?” 

His voice is low, but the words hold a sharpness to them. Dan wants to scream in frustration. “No, you imbecile. Of course not, that was actually all really inconvenient. Because I just wanted you so much, all the time. And I couldn’t have you, because all those things were in the way.” He pauses. "Minus the axe murderer, probably."

Finally, Phil seems to catch up with what Dan is getting at, judging by the way his pupils dilate, the way he turns in towards Dan, eyes flicking over his face. “I know how you felt,” he murmurs, catching hold of Dan’s dancing finger, then lacing their hands together. “You were always so… tempting.” 

“Were?” 

Dan holds his eyes; their faces are inches apart now. Dan’s libido is rocketing around his body, wild and happy, finally seeing some relief. Phil’s answering smile is crooked. He places his glass down, then tucks a curl behind Dan’s ear. 

“You were tempting then,” he replies. “Now, you’re irresistible.” 

The kiss is a little wet, but it tastes of prosecco, and a bit like chlorine, which is a scent Dan associates with their first kiss anyway, so it’s nice. Phil is obviously keen for a slow, sensual experience, so he drags his lip over Dan’s, bites softly, lets their tongues twine. He strokes along Dan’s throat with damp fingers, until water droplets run down his neck, creating a pleasant tickle all of their own. Dan, in turn, grows hungrier for him with every second, wanting nothing more than to be grabbed, clasped, thrown down and pleasured. But he resists the urge to push for these things, lets Phil lead the way, and tries to be good. A slow build has better payoff, he knows. But it’s been _months_. 

Eventually, his hands won’t behave, and he crawls closer, letting his palm glide up Phil’s thigh, until it creeps beneath his swim shorts. He feels how Phil starts, how his languid kissing stutters and breaks. He pulls back to look Dan in the eye, hesitant. 

In response to the unspoken question, Dan pushes his hand in even further, pulling a shocked little gasp from Phil's lips. “D-Dan,” he utters, one hand resting on his wrist, but not stopping him. 

It feels _so good_ to stroke his fingers over Phil’s length again. Just to feel the familiar shape of it under his hand, the way it stiffens in fingers as he moves them. He looks into Phil’s wide, lust-blown eyes as he strokes over it, his own dick twitching in eagerness. 

“Feel good, still?” Dan asks in a whisper.

A tiny groan falls from Phil’s lips. “Dan-” he says again, but at that moment, they are interrupted. 

The door of the hotel swings open, and out bustles Mona, gleeful and brandishing fresh robes for them both. “...afraid we’re going to have to get on with the cleaning now, so your time is up, but I hope you had a nice little soak…”

Dan tunes her out, his hands having retreated back into his own lap to hide his prominent bulge the minute the door opened. He watches Phil nodding at her, the strained smile he wears, and sighs again, surrendering to a long, frustrating evening. 

*

Dan’s being weird. They’re back in the room now, after a glorious, if brief, dip in the hot tub. Phil had gone to shower immediately, and when he came out of the bathroom, still sore, but a bit more relaxed, Dan had seemed… impatient. He’d been sitting on the bed, upright against the pillows, drumming his fingers on his bare thigh. 

“I suppose I’ll have to shower now too,” he’d grumbled, then gotten up and stalked to the bathroom. 

Phil had just shrugged it off. Dan is generally temperamental. Only ten minutes ago he’d been feeling Phil up in the hot tub, which again had come out of nowhere. Phil hadn’t really known how to react to it, honestly. He’s kind of glad Mona interrupted them, in case it was some kind of test Dan was giving him, to see whether he’d give in and make a move. Exhausting, quite honestly. He flops backwards onto the bed, in just a towel, and moments later hears the shower switch off. Dan walks out in a towel, just the same, and stops when he sees Phil sprawled out on the bed. 

“Still achey?” 

Phil nods. Even that hurts. “I should’ve stretched before I left or something. I’m an old man.”

Dan’s mouth twitches. “Turn over, Gandalf.” 

“What?” 

“Come on, I’ll work the knots out.” 

Phil’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Oh. Like a massage?” 

The smirk Dan sends him is sinful. Phil's cock, which is still perky with interest after the hot tub, twitches. “Yeah. Like a massage.” 

Not much point in refusing such a fantastic and unexpected offer. Phil shuffles to his side, then flips himself all the way over, until he’s face down on the bed, his legs hanging off the end. 

Dan snorts. “Shift up a bit. Get all the way up the bed.”

Phil complies, heart beginning to pick up speed for a reason he can’t quite articulate. “This okay?” 

“Yep,” Dan replies, then pulls the edge of Phil’s towel, and unwraps it from his waist. It’s still trapped beneath him, of course, but Phil’s buttocks and the backs of his thighs are now exposed to the air. He has to suppress a small squeak. “Okay, try to relax.”

Dan settles himself on the backs of Phil’s thighs. He can feel that Dan’s towel is still covering his lower half, because the fabric scratches at his skin. His heart pounds in his chest, imagining all that Dan can see right now. 

“I’ve got this moisturiser that was in the bathroom,” Dan says casually, followed by the sound of a bottle squirting something into Dan’s hand. “It’s jasmine scented. So don’t blame me if it reeks.” 

“Okay,” Phil manages, though his voice sounds a bit choked. 

“I said relax,” Dan says, tapping him lightly on the bum. 

Phil tries, but his muscles won’t cooperate. Despite his best attempts - because Dan has stated that he isn’t interested in sex right now - he cannot prevent his body from reacting to certain things that Dan does, or says. He is, as he has always been, wildly attracted to Dan in almost every single way. To the point where it drives him to do mad, reckless things, like call up his husband and smack him with demands for a divorce, or blow him on an airborne plane. He’s attracted to the smell of Dan - cotton and warmth - and the look of him, the dimple in his cheek, the freckles just beside it, the smile that pushes it into existence. He’s attracted to the sound of his voice, in its derisive, cutting tone, its amused, light-footed lilt, and its late night, silken whisper. He’s attracted to the deep burgundy colour of Dan’s eyes, the way they melt into chocolate-brown when he’s eager, or excited, or proud. 

And right now, he’s attracted to Dan’s hands, which are covered in slippery lotion, sliding over the skin of his back. He kneads his knuckles into the space between Phil’s shoulder-blades, runs the edges of his nails down either side of Phil’s spine. As he works the tension from Phil’s muscles, Phil can feel himself getting harder, can sense how his body lights up with anticipation for something that Dan has taken off the table for now. He feels guilty for it, terribly so, but it’s impossible to stop it happening. Dan is, and always will be, the sexiest person in existence to him. He swallows thickly, swamped in desire.

“How’s that feel?” Dan asks for the third time this evening. He’s certainly not making this whole thing easy. “I can go harder if you want.” 

The pained noise that slips from Phil’s mouth is, of course, involuntary. It makes Dan pause. “It’s really good,” Phil whispers back. “Keep going, please.” 

“Do you mind if I take my towel off?” Dan asks, already undoing it, Phil can tell. “It’s getting in the way.” 

There’s no possible way Phil can understand how Dan’s towel could be obstructing the massage, but the opportunity to protest is long gone. Dan’s hands are back on him, and the place their skin meets - Dan’s groin to Phil’s thighs - is palpable. Phil’s breath sticks in his throat. 

“You’re so wound up,” Dan mumbles, digging his fingers into a place that has Phil near spasming. “I think this is stress, too.” 

“Prob’ly,” Phil agrees. “I don’t remember the last time I stretched out.”

“Or worked out,” Dan says, so Phil reaches back and smacks him, lightly. 

“You calling me flabby?”

Dan laughs, prodding him in the hip, where his love handles have swelled a little over the past year or so. “No,” he says though. “I love seeing you filled out a bit. It’s not even that much, but you were so skinny before. I like you now,” Dan purrs, sliding his hands all the way up Phil’s back, from the base of his spine to the top of his neck, then fisting into his wet hair. “Solid. Manly. Like you could pin me underneath you.”

Phil shivers. It’s pretty embarrassing. Dan notices, and chuckles, all low and breathy, like he knows exactly why. “That’s… hot,” Phil admits, because there’s no use pretending he’s not incredibly turned on at this point. “This feels so good, Dan. You have magic hands.”

Dan leans forwards, draping himself over Phil’s back until he can bring his lips to his ear. Like this, Phil can feel Dan's cock trapped between them, stiffly pushing into the swell of his buttock. 

“Turn over,” Dan whispers, then flicks his tongue out, and licks against the shell of Phil’s ear. 

Phil closes his eyes, pinkening. “I, uh, I have to warn you. I’m, like, super hard right now.” 

Dan laughs, the sound of it rich and heady, then presses a kiss to Phil’s neck. “Me too. Turn over.” 

Prickling with some cocktail of embarrassment and excitement, Phil struggles up to his elbows as Dan leans away, then turns himself over, a little shakily. The towel stays beneath him, spread out on the bed. Phil doesn’t know what Dan did with his, but it’s gone, that’s evident, leaving all of him on glorious display. He wasn’t lying, he is hard too, surprisingly so, given that Phil hasn’t so much as laid a finger on him. 

“Lie down again,” Dan orders, sending him a knowing smile. “I’ll do your front.” 

Phil swallows, but does as he’s told. He’s so dizzy with lust that it feels a little like laying on his back in the ocean, the bed seeming to bob him up and down like the waves of the sea. It works, as a metaphor, because he feels completely out of his depth in this situation. Dan holds all the cards, he’s the one that knows how far this can all go. Phil just has to lie here and let Dan have his way, which will presumably be just to drive him mad with want using those magic hands, then leave him high and dry. 

Although, the other morning was an interesting break in the fast…

Before he can think on it more, Dan’s upon him, straddling his thighs again, hands working over his chest now. He’s not as sore on the front, but Dan’s hands still feel amazing, inching across every millimetre of skin, finding all the worst areas and stubbornly pulverising them until they’re loose. Phil’s mouth waters. His dick aches. His hands twitch, desperate to fly out and grab at him. Eventually, after about twenty minutes of exquisite torture, Dan’s hand closes around his cock, and Phil almost weeps with how good it feels.

“God’s sake, Phil,” Dan sighs, irritable again for some unfathomable reason, sliding his fist up and down, “how long do I have to sensually rub your naked body for until you snap and fuck me into the mattress?” 

Phil’s head jerks up, eyes wide. “W-what?”

Dan’s cheeks have coloured, but he holds Phil’s gaze with a glare. “You heard me.”

“But- but you said- I thought you didn’t want-”

“That was then,” Dan snaps, impatiently. “But I’m going fucking mad, Phil. It’s been _months_. Do you want me or not?” 

It’s such an absurd, infuriatingly provocative question, that it drives Phil into an immediate, and furious response. He sits up, knocks Dan’s hands away from his cock, gets his hands around Dan’s waist and pulls him down, until they’re pressed together. Dan seems to get the idea straight away, and is easily guided into something that Phil would be hesitant to call a kiss, given that it’s mostly teeth and tongues and hot, gasping breath. Phil rolls them over, eager to be on top of Dan, finally, both of them naked and slightly damp and slippery from lotion. Dan’s fingernails dig into the swell of his ass, creating pinpricks of stimulation Phil that send pulses of pleasure through Phil’s lower body. He presses his dick against Dan’s pelvis, hard, showing him how very, very badly he wants this. 

“Dan Howell,” he growls into the kiss, “not a day has passed where I don’t, somewhere in my mind, want you more than anything in the world.”

Dan gasps as Phil’s tongue trails up his throat. “P-prove it,” he says, wrapping his legs around Phil’s. “And hurry up, God, I’m so- so-”

“So what?” Phil asks, grinning a little as he pulls back. “Desperate for it? For me?”

“Yes, you fucker,” Dan snarls, then smacks him on the back of the head. “Wouldn’t have to be if you took the opportunity to dick me down once in a while-”

Phil shuts him up with a kiss, which he follows up by snaking a hand between them and seizing hold of Dan’s cock. It’s a wonderful thing to hold in his hand, especially as it never fails to shut Dan up mid-sentence. He goes still, just for a moment, just as Phil touches him here for the first time, and then his body will drain of tension, as he gives himself over to the pleasure Phil builds in him. It’s a beautiful, incredible sight, always, and Phil will never forgive himself for letting so much time slip by not indulging in it.

It’s a slow process, opening Dan up with the jasmine moisturiser he’d been using for the massage. The stuff actually smells pretty nice, clean and floral, but it’s not as good as lube, which neither of them have given that Martyn packed their cases for them. Also, of course, as Dan has no qualms about repeatedly bringing up, it’s been a while since they’ve done this. So he’s tight.

 _Really_ tight. 

Phil fingers him until his fingers start to ache, until Dan is shivering with overstimulation, until jasmine fills the air, and their sinuses, and gets all over the sheets. Dan begs him to just stop, and fuck him already, but Phil wants to make sure this is all pleasure, no pain, for both of them. Plus, he loves - _loves_ \- to watch Dan writhe around, drunk on his own bliss, his toes curling, his hands pulling the sheet off the corner of the mattress. Only when a tear slips from one of his eyes does Phil take pity on him. He draws his fingers out, moving over Dan to claim him with an insistent, probing kiss. Dan’s lips are bitten, tasting of sharp metal and, again, a hint of jasmine. 

“Phil,” Dan moans, arms locked around his neck, “I’m literally begging you, please. Please fuck me now. I’m going insane.” 

Phil nods against his neck as he kisses down it. “Sure, baby. I’ll be gentle.” 

“ _No_ ,” Dan practically screams, and then, when it’s obvious from Phil’s laughter that he was teasing, hits him in the back of the head again. “You bastard. Fuck me twice as hard for that, or I’ll leave you a hickey where Mona will see.”

“She’ll see yours first,” Phil says, reaching for the lotion as he sits back on his haunches. 

Dan’s eyes go wide, menacing. One of his hands fly to his neck, where a gorgeous, crimson hickey is blooming. “You didn’t-”

Whatever furious spew of threats Dan had been about to say break off when Phil starts slicking up his cock, preparing. Dan watches with unblinking eyes, still trembling slightly with anticipation, then swallows hard as Phil shuffles in between his legs. 

“Ready?” Phil asks, to which Dan replies with a swift kick somewhere in the vicinity of Phil’s kidneys. “Ow! I’m just checking!”

“I can’t believe you’ve made me wait this long and now you’re trying to draw it out even longer, you sadistic, cruel- ah, oh, _oh, fuck_. Right.” 

Phil has begun to push in, keeping a hand steadily pumping over Dan’s cock as he eases past the rim, because it’s got to be a stretch, after so long, no matter how much they prepared. Dan sinks into the mattress, eyes closed in concentration as Phil shifts his hips forwards, trying not to come immediately because _holy shit_ this feels _fantastic_. The sensation had diminished in his memory, but now, fitting himself into this snug, slick, burrow inside of Dan, the boy he loves so ferociously, is nothing short of orgasmic. It takes some time, at least five minutes or so, but together they manage to find the groove they had once so effortlessly slipped into. Phil fits himself into Dan as far as he can, right up to the hilt. Dan arches his back, asks Phil to prop his hips there with a pillow, which he does, and then groans in pleasure as the angle lets Phil’s cock press against his prostate. 

“God, Phil, yeah,” Dan says, choked, “fuck me now, like that.”

Phil draws out a short way, then inches back in, tiny thrusts that might only barely give Dan what he needs. Dan groans in frustration, digging his nails into Phil’s shoulders. He’ll have marks, he’s sure. It will be so hot to run his fingers over them tomorrow, and remember.

“Harder?” Phil asks. 

It’s kind of hard to focus, because everything is coated in a glutinous, sexual, jasmine-scented haze. But he wants to hear the desperate whine that laces Dan’s voice. Wants to feel him shiver and stutter and lose control. 

“Fuck,” Dan whimpers, batting him weakly, “yes, harder. Please, Phil. Give it to me, I need- I need you.” 

It’s Phil who shivers. Right before he draws his hips back, much farther this time, then slams back in, the way Dan asked him to. He groans, fingers scrabbling against Phil’s skin. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he pants, “yes, like that. Harder.”

“Relax, baby,” Phil says, finding his wrists and pinning them up above his head. “I got you.” 

*

It’s two in the morning before they stop. Dan’s sure that neither of them meant to go on so long, but it seems to him that the absence of touching and licking and pressing against one another this way has created a chasm that they both needed to fill. Now, they lie exhausted in the rumpled sheets, a film of sweat glistening on their skin. Phil has his hand in Dan’s hair. Dan has his head on Phil’s chest. He likes the rhythm of it, the way the rise and fall of his breath bobs him up and down, like the two of them are floating together at sea. 

“It’s kind of mad, how great we are at that,” Dan muses. 

“It’s mad that we manage to ever stop,” Phil agrees. His fingertips rake over Dan’s scalp; it’s wonderful. “I’m sorry, Dan.”

Dan frowns. “Sorry?”

“For everything. For neglecting you.”

“Oh.” Dan shifts away from him, propping up on one elbow to look him in the eye. “Yeah, it, um. It wasn’t a great time. For me.”

Phil’s eyes shine with guilt. The moonlight, sneaking in through the gap in the heavy curtains, sets off the glimmer, makes it sparkle. “I’ll never take you for granted like that again. I promise.”

Dan fidgets, playing with the covers. “Mmm.” 

The disbelief is obvious in his behaviour, but Dan’s too exhausted to hide it. He feels Phil’s hand resting over his. “I don’t blame you for not taking my word for it. I do hear what you said, about it being hard to see how things could change.”

Dan shrugs a shoulder, feeling the maddening urge to cry begin to sting behind his eyes. This isn’t fair. A moment ago he’d been blissfully happy, reeling in the aftermath of fantastic sex, curled in Phil’s arms like everything was okay. Now, they’re back to vivisecting this wounded mess of a relationship, pointing out all the cuts and gouges, reminding themselves of how hard it could be to heal. 

“Your job is always going to take you away from me,” Dan says around the lump in his throat. “So it just doesn’t seem possible that-”

“I have something I want to talk to you about,” Phil says, inexplicably. He’s oddly calm, his voice steady. “Something I think might help with that problem.”

Dan frowns back at him in the dark, trying to figure out what solution there could possibly be. He comes up empty. “Okay…”

“But not now,” Phil says, opening his arms, an invitation for Dan to curl back into him. “In the morning. Now, I just want to tell you I’m sorry, and that I’m going to do everything I can to make it right.”

It’s the fault of his exhausted, wrung out body, Dan tells himself as he flops back down and rolls into Phil’s embrace, snuggling into his chest. He’s vaguely aware that it’s kind of gross to sleep this way, in the midst of their mess, but if he’s totally honest with himself, he likes it. Likes the smell of everything they’ve just done, likes how it will cling to him all night long, likes how Phil doesn’t seem to care about the hygiene of it all, just wants to be close to Dan here, now. 

“But,” Phil whispers against the top of Dan’s head, “I do have one thing I need to say.”

“Mm?” Dan asks, eyes closed, drunk on comfort and warmth and the nearness of Phil. 

“I know I didn’t make this clear enough, and that’s my fault. Completely. But looking back, I think the only reason I didn’t ask you, explicitly, is because I thought you’d just know. That place, in London. The flat. That’s yours, Dan. It’s yours as much as mine. It’s your home, and you can call it yours, and I want you in it with me, all the time.”

Dan goes very still. Blindsided, he has to struggle for a response. “I… I thought it was for the company…”

“It was. Sort of. I just knew we needed somewhere, all of us. So I bought the first place I could get my hands on when I got Nikolai’s ring money. But it’s clear to me now that I was… well. Just a complete ignoramus, to be frank. I didn’t consider what you might think of the situation, or even think about where you would fit in. It’s not fair of me to make you live like that, with hundreds of people traipsing through your living space each day. You’re my partner, Dan. I want to give you a home, not a base camp.”

Dan sniffs, involuntarily. “Partner?” 

“Yes. So I’m going to find somewhere else for the AmazingPhil stuff. An office space, or something. Then that place can just be ours.”

Dan’s heart swells to at least double its size. Hearing this is so out of the blue, so sweet and dreamlike that he can’t seem to function properly in response. He burrows himself deeper into Phil’s neck, not caring that Phil can definitely feel the dampness from the tears.

“I love you,” Dan mumbles. 

Phil kisses him. The only place he can get at is sort of just below Dan’s temple, but that’s okay. “I love you so much, Dan.” 

*

Getting Dan to feel positively about coming on board the AmazingPhil team is tricky, but Phil foresaw that it might be, so he goes in prepared. He chooses the moment after Dan comes out of the shower; he wraps him up in one of the fresh robes he’d had sent up to the room with coffee and croissants, sits him in front of the fire, which he’d lit himself, and gives him breakfast. Dan is immediately suspicious, of course, but he accepts all the pampering nonetheless, curled up on the couch, squinting at Phil as he drops croissant flakes all down the robe’s crisp, white front. 

And as he’s munching and sipping, Phil just launches right in. He explains his idea, to get Dan involved with the company, to create a role for him that would suit his particular skill of problem solving and conflict resolution - something that, incidentally, none of the others in the team are any good at - and to give him a chance to do something he’d feel was worthwhile. And, to sweeten the deal, he tacks on, casually, that sharing the workload would firstly reduce the hours Phil would be working, but it wouldn’t be as bad as before anyway, because now they’d be working together. 

Dan is quiet for a while after Phil finally stops rambling, picking pastry flakes off himself and flicking them into the fire. “I don’t want you giving me a job out of pity,” he says, avoiding Phil’s eye. “What are the others going to think? Some of the team don’t even get paid, and here I am, no experience or past desire to even join in, starting at your salary level-”

“No one’s going to think anything,” Phil interrupts, hand raised, “I’ve spoken to Cornelia about it, and she agrees that we need you. You’re not just a volunteer like Steven or Lily. They both have full time jobs, they’re doing this because they believe in the cause and want to put their free time to good use. You’re doing this to help us, we’ve recruited you and your specific skillset. If anyone has an objection, I can explain it to them.”

Dan’s chewing his thumbnail. “What would my job title be? I hated doing that law stuff Phil, I’m not the kind of person that can sit in meetings and argue with businesspeople. I would have been the world’s shittest lawyer-”

“There will be no law stuff whatsoever,” Phil assures him. “Guaranteed. I’ll go to someone else for that.” 

“Will you write that into my contract?” Dan asks, smiling. “‘Dan will not perform any law-related work, or provide legal advice for the AmazingPhil organisation. Any deviation from this clause will result in Mr Lester receiving no sex acts for the following two weeks.’” 

“Aw, but see, you’re so good at the solicitous language,” Phil teases, standing from his seat to walk over to him. He places his hands on Dan’s knees, opening them slightly as he bends forwards to kiss him. "See, you've already convinced me." 

Dan makes a ‘hmmph’ noise, but he lets it happen, squirming a little when Phil slides his hands beneath the robe, up both of his thighs. “I really wouldn’t push your luck, mate.”

“Is that a ‘yes, Phil, I’d love to come and work with you’?” 

“No,” Dan says, so abrupt and unexpected that Phil breaks away, leaning back. Dan is perfectly calm, serious, as he says: “I want to know exactly what you’re offering here. I appreciate what you’re doing, Phil. I think it’s an interesting idea, but couples working together isn’t renowned for going well in the long run. I think we need to plan it carefully, maybe with Cornelia. If there really is an opening for me, which I agree there might be, because you’re all terrible at compromising and mediating, then perhaps. _Perhaps_ ,” Dan stresses, because the grin of delight has already burst forth on Phil’s face, “I might, maybe consider it.”

Phil kisses him again, gleeful, and works his hands all the way up Dan’s thighs until he’s got hold of both hips, and tugs him forwards in the chair. Dan sort of pulls Phil on top of him, giggling, and after that they don’t get round to speaking more on it for quite a while. 

*

At the end of the two weeks, Phil is horrified to find that he doesn't really want to leave. Only fourteen days ago, the very idea of walking around this hotel again was nauseating. Now, after endless days of lounging around the suite with Dan, playing old video games and chatting about nothing, chasing each other around the room and falling into a passionate lock of bare limbs, he's spoiled. The Secret of the Alps has transformed back into the idyllic, remote, romantic destination he used to think of it as, back when Nikolai first showed him the brochure.

The morning after their quarantine period ends, they're lying in bed, lamenting the hideous idea of returning to their hectic lives, no matter how much more attractive they seem now. They are just drifting from pillow talk to kissing, when a loud clattering begins on the door. Phil pulls sharply away from Dan, unnerved by the sound given that they've spent two weeks holed up in here without any disturbance, aside from the food they've called down for.   
  
"Did you order something?" Phil asks, already pulling away from him, struggling to sit up. 

"Phil, I've been here making out with you all morning. Unless your tongue has a direct line to reception, I think the answer's fairly obvious," Dan says dryly, which, even though he's being a grumpy bitch, makes Phil laugh. 

The cacophony of banging continues against the door, so Phil hauls himself out of bed to answer it, remembering only when Dan shouts at him that he needs to don a robe. He pulls open the door as he's still tying it and is promptly tackled to the ground by Louise. She flings herself at him with such panache that Phil nearly cracks his coccyx, but gamely wraps his arms around her once they're sprawled on the ground, laughing at her excitability. 

"Oh, God you're naked," she cries when she sits up, hands flying to her face. Phil struggles to draw the robe more tightly around himself. "Where's Dan," she demands, getting up, "it's his turn."

"Wait, Lou, I'm also not dressed-" Dan starts to cry from the bed, pulling the covers over himself as much as possible, but she's already hurtling over to him, flinging herself onto the bed to wrap him in a hug. 

"Daniel, I have waited two years and two weeks to hug your skinny little bod, you are not denying me the chance, dick out or not," she scolds, and Dan just laughs, groaning slightly at being crushed. 

Phil chuckles at the scene, getting to his feet, and only then notices Mona, hovering in the doorway, her smile bright on her mask-less face. "Could I?" she asks, arms opening. Her eyes glisten slightly. 

Phil smiles back warmly, nodding with fervour, and steps into her embrace. She's a fair bit smaller than him, so he has to stoop, but it's a lovely, warm hug nonetheless. She's wearing a cardigan instead of a blazer today, which Phil thinks privately was probably a pre-determined choice, to give her hug a cushioned feel. 

"It's been so wonderful having you back here," Mona whispers, voice wobbly. "I do hope your memories of this place haven't been irreparably tarnished."

"Mona, I honestly believe this hotel has magical healing powers," Phil tells her, drawing back from the hug. "I'm sorry I haven't been back before now. But trust me, after all that's happened here, Dan and I will be back. Regularly, I imagine." 

Mona can't hide how her eyes fill with tears, though she'd clearly like to. "Oh," she says, sniffing. "That would be lovely." 

"Can you stand another, Mona?" Dan asks, safely robed now, as he sidles over to Mona, arms wide. 

It's all lovely, then. The four of them are tactile, more so than usual now that they're allowed, and they hold hands as they sit around a table in the lounge, gossiping about everything that's happened. There are still no new guests, won't be until that afternoon, so all morning they drink sweet coffees, and eat tiny iced cakes that Louise made, and bask in the comfort of their early-forged friendship. In all honesty, Phil had kind of forgotten how close they all became, once. Or perhaps it wasn't as obvious back then, because he'd deliberately distanced himself from these kind, lovely people, even though they'd so obviously loved him all the while. 

Eventually, however, Mona has to excuse herself to help Dan's replacement get the room ready for the new guests, and so Phil and Dan and Louise are left, crumbs on their plates, empty cups on the table. 

"So, I'm guessing, from all the scarring nakedness, that you've stopped behaving like twats and realised you're hopelessly smitten with one another again?" 

Dan laughs, blushing lightly. "It seems that way, yeah." 

"Thank the fucking Lord," Louise says, collapsing to the table. "That was insufferable. Schooling you both on how to behave like functional human beings. I got enough of that the first time around." 

"Hold on," Phil says, frowning. "You were telling both of us how to deal with the other?"

"Obviously," Louise scoffs. "You're equally stupid, you both needed help." 

"God, I'll miss you," Dan says, sounding genuinely miserable. "How will I cope, not seeing you every day? Venting to you? Annoying you with my stupid problems?"

Louise wrinkles her nose. "I've seen enough of you today that I will never miss you again in my life, I'm sure," she says, but pulls him into a hug anyway. 

"That was your own fault," Dan mutters into her shoulder. 

"Your dick, Dan. I saw your dick."

"Should I be jealous?" Phil asks, giggling. 

"God, no," Louise says, grinning, and pushes Dan away. "Keep him. You, on the other hand, Mister Ex-Novokoric..." 

"Alright, alright," Dan says, getting up from his chair. "Hands off." He glares at Phil, who has taken hold of Louise's hand to make a show of kissing it. "Come on, you Royal pain. Let's go pack." 

*

Dan makes his way up to the room without Phil, letting him have a moment with Louise, because Dan's had more than his fair share. He trails his fingers along the wood panelling of the stairwell, a slight smile on his face as he considers all the times he's passed along these stairs before, huffing and cursing because they're endless, and he has the muscle mass of a scarecrow. He gets to the top landing, glancing down at the sliver of light under Phil's door out of habit, nearly opening room eight before he checks himself, remembers that it's not his anymore. Now he's migrated through the wall that used to separate him from the person he secretly longed for. Now he sleeps beside that person. Now that person loves him so much he'd done every possible thing he could to make sure they have a future. 

For a while, Dan packs, half-heartedly, because the sunlight glossing the wooden floor keeps stealing his focus. The huge windows call him towards them, coaxing him closer with their spectacular view, creating an ache in his chest because he will so badly miss it when he's gone. It's the kind of view you think you will get used to, up here, and then it catches you off guard, as you're doing something else, and all you can do is stare out, lost in the overwhelm of such awesome, incredible beauty. 

"Packing's going well, I see," Phil says, creeping up behind him to thread arms around Dan's waist. They're both still in just their robes, and Phil's fingers are already loosening the knot securing Dan's.

It makes Dan laugh, and he rocks his head back against Phil's shoulder, sighing in happiness. "Can we come back here?" 

"I've already basically received an annual pass from Mona," Phil assures him, and it makes Dan's heart twinge, to know he's feeling the same fondness for this tiny little slice of their history, tucked away where only a handful of people will ever see it. "But right now I'm looking forward to taking you home."

"Home," Dan echoes, eyes fluttering closed. 

Phil kisses the top of his head, rocking him gently side to side. "Yeah. Let's go home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and saying beautiful things about this AU. I have loved writing it, because I love the dynamic of their relationship in this particular verse - two stubborn hotheads in love. A trope as frustrating to read as it is satisfying, imo. So I hope I achieved that in this verse. Anyway, I love you all massively, I'm sorry it was such a long one, but I felt like this is a secondary story of their experience that needed to be told. And, of course, it was interesting to weave in the corona stuff, because that makes it a little bit more real! 
> 
> kisses, Ellen xxx


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